Not the Same, Never Again
by Winged Quill
Summary: Even after escaping the horror of The School, Harry is plagued by flashbacks and nightmares. And the date on his arm is slowly ticking away the little time he has left. With wings and a death sentence, how long will it be before someone learns his secret?
1. Welcome to the School

**A/N: Yeah, a new story. Angry, rabid plot bunnies attacked me and wouldn't stop until I wrote this, so that's why this is up and not an update for another story. I apologize. But here's something to tide you over while you wait. And consider it a 'replacement' for 'Scar Ride? Alice Potter?' which is sadly, no longer with us.**

***tear***

**So instead of a Flock-Member-That-Is-Also-Harry's-Twin-Sister (atrocious Mary-Sue *shudder* I'm ashamed to have written her...) you get a kidnapped experimented-on Harry. Who was kidnapped at age 15, summer before OotP and during TAE. I came up with a new plot *happy dance* I've never seen a teenager Harry captured, only Harry-was-taken-of-the-doorstep-when-he-was-a-baby.**

**If there is another fic similar to this, I apologize. But I combed through the crossover archieve and searched 'Harry, School' and 'Harry, Wings' before I wrote this and didn't find anything similar to this.**

**Anywho, the point of view will be 1st-person, mostly Harry, but some other characters here and there. There will definitely be a scene with Snape's POV (I know exactly which one too, feel free to guess) and quite a few with Max's POV, but that's all I really know for sure in terms of non-Harry's-POV.**

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**Summary: In a rash act of self-sacrifice, Harry saves a dying Muggle by magically transfering the man's cancer to himself. Now, going through his fifth year with a terrible secret, he begins to realize just what he's given up. H/G, R/Hr. Warning: abuse**

**My Comments: One of my favorites, the quality of the writing was a rarity not usually found on this site. A must-read, a tearjerker, and a novel-length story on top of it all! I seriously think that Celebony is either already an author or should become one!**

**Anyway...I own nothing and...**

**_Chapter One: Welcome to The School._**

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><p><em>Max<em>

There is a new boy. I don't know his name. The whitecoats pretty much just came into the room, opened the door of a nearby dog crate, and flung him in. I exchange a glance with Fang, Nudge, and Angel. Iggy and Gazzy aren't in this place, thank God.

The boy, like the rest of us, is wearing a grey t-shirt and knee-length shorts. His breath is pained, yet he looks nothing like most of the other experiments. As in, he's not painful to look at. He looks...normal. Like us.

Who is he? I've never seen him before, and he's our age. I would have seen him before, in the ten years of nightmarish torture that was the first segment of my life. And the torture may commence again for the rest of it (however short it may be.)

Still, this stranger. Is he from another lab? I don't know. He isn't a new experiment though, he's too old to have just become like us and still been successful. He would have died, his DNA would have unraveled. And yet, he bears none of the marks of someone living like we did. He's clean, for one. He has no cuts, bruises, burns, or really any markings at all. The one thing that stands out is a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, and I briefly wonder where he got it.

The one mark he has of being like us are bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. And that doesn't really mean anything. For all know, he could have insomnia.

I sigh, then turn to Angel.

_Picking anything up from him?_

_No, he's unconscious._

_Ah. Anything from the whitecoats?_

_Amazement that his DNA didn't self-destruct._

_He's new? But how?_

_I don't know. But the Erasers found him...and a bunch of others. They were supposed to look for teenage 'specimens' across the globe. They had them all in another lab for a few hours waiting for the genes to fail or take._

_They expected most of them to fail, right?_

_All of them. If they got one it would be a miracle._

_Right. But _he's_ a success._

_Yes._

_Why? And what type of DNA does he have?_

_I don't know. The whitecoats weren't thinking about it._

Huh. Food for thought. I sit back, watching as Angel relays the conversation to Fang and then Nudge, both of which looked just as shocked as I felt.

A simple rule of thumb, DNA _never_ took to someone that old that well. _Never_. So how this one survived was a complete mystery.

I decide to dub this boy 'Mystery' until I know his real name.

For the next few hours, nothing happened. Mystery didn't wake up, which I was slightly disappointed about, until I remembered that he was recovering from having his whole genetic makeup changed. The whitecoats also never returned, which was a blessing.

Finally, about five hours later, Mystery stirred.

The flock all shoots up, watching him warily. Not that he could be a real threat, unless he has lion DNA or something. Hmm...

My pondering is interrupted when Mystery groans and his eyes flutter open. They dart around in confusion for a moment, before they widen and he sits up abruptly. A look of panic crosses his features.

"What is going on? Where am I? What happened to me? Why am I in a _dog crate?_ And _why_..." His eyes widen as his hand gingerly touches something on his back, before clearly going into all out panic-mode, "do I have _wings?"_

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><p><em>Harry<em>

I groan and blearily open my eyes, expecting to see the ugly walls of my bedroom. But instead, I'm staring our through bars. Bars? I sit upright like I was shocked by lightning._ Where am I? Why am I locked up?_ I see other people about my age sitting across from me, and I immediately start asking questions.

"What is going on? Where am I? What happened to me? Why am I in a..." I realize where I'm locked now, "_dog crate? _And why..."

I'm about to ask why I have what feels like two massive lumps on my back, when I reach around to touch them myself. My fingers brush against feathers.

_Wait a minute...feathers? Oh God, oh God, this is not happening, this can't be happening, help me, help me. Why do I have...why do I have..._

I'm finally able to complete the question-"do I have _wings?"_

They stare at me in shock for a moment, before the oldest girl speaks.

"You have wings?"

I extend one of them as far as it can go, not very small considering the cramped space.

"Well," she says, sitting back and watching me, a slight smirk on her face, "you'll fit right in here."

"What do you mean?"

She extends a wing herself, and I honestly am not that surprised. After waking up in a dog crate, finding out I have wings, and learning that someone had apparently changed my DNA, nothing much more could surprise me.

"Okay, you have wings. To be quite frank, I'm not surprised. But..._why?"_

"Isn't it obvious?"

I turn my head to look in the crate next to the girl's. A boy sits in it, looking at me with a flicker of pity in his eyes.

"You're an experiment."

An experiment.

Is that all I am to these "scientists?" Me and these others? Some sort of lab rat?

The door to the hallway opens and two men in white lab coats, along with these horrid wolf-human hybrids, enter. I suddenly remember that it was these creatures who kidnapped me in the first place.

The other children tense and shrink back as they draw nearer. But they don't come for them.

The door to my crate swings open.

As I'm dragged out, struggling against being taken to whatever they're going to do to me, I hear the boy speak again.

"Welcome to The School."

And then I'm dragged out and the door slams shut. I continue to struggle against the wolf-men's grips, vaguely noticing that I seem to be stronger, as well as slightly taller. But they are even more so, and they eventually just laugh, lift me off the ground, and carry me through a door and into a lab-like room.

I'm carried over to a large table, and flung upon it. My wrists and ankles are secured and a nearby scientist picks up a syringe.

I'm unable to stop it from plunging into my arm. A feeling I can only describe as liquid fire courses through my veins, and I'm barely able to keep from screaming. I won't give them that satisfaction.

A second syringe. The pain doubles.

A third. _Don't scream, don't scream._

A fourth. _Don't give them the satisfaction._

A fifth.

I scream.

"Five," the scientist injecting me says to another, who's holding a clipboard.

_They were waiting for me to scream? What kind of monsters are these people?_

That's all I can manage to think as I writhe on the table, screaming and mentally begging for the pain to stop, _stop, STOP!_

I don't know how long I was burned alive for. Not that long, but to me, it felt like eternity. When the fire finally stops, the screams no longer stream from my lips and I lie, trembling, on the table.

"Twenty-three minutes, fifteen seconds, pain-resistance test complete," I hear someone say.

"Alright, move on to underwater test."

_Underwater?_

Hands grab me and before I know it I'm completely submerged. I throw my hands desperately against the roof of the huge tank I seem to be in, but it's no use. _They wouldn't really kill me, would they? They still need their lab rat._

Time passes as I continue to beat the top with my fists. The world becomes fuzzy around the edges and I hear a faint buzzing in my ear. It feels so good to just let go and sink down, down, down...

I wake abruptly to an intense pain shooting through every fiber of my being. I open my eyes and scream. I find myself strapped down again, wires tapped to me. _Oh God, they're electrocuting me._

Another zap. A third.

"STOP!" I scream. "I'm begging you, just stop!"

The scientist laughs, zapping me again. Tears stream down my face.

"STOP IT!" I sob, screaming, as a fifth burst of electricity courses through me.

A sixth.

"Alright Reilly, that's enough. You don't want to kill it."

It.

That's all I am to these people. An it. Something to torture, to _experiment_ on.

I run on a treadmill. Have my blood drawn several times. Injected with the most horrible things. They finally say that it's over, let me use the bathroom, and feed me a tin cup of water and a bowl of disgusting sludge.

I'm thrown back in my crate and the door latches behind me. I curl up on my side, tears running in rivulets down my cheeks.

The others watch me silently.

"Why me?"

"That's the same question we've all been asking ourselves. For years."

I nod weakly, then my eyes fall shut. I just want this day to end.

"What's your name?" I hear one of them ask.

Right before sleep claims me, I manage to answer.

"It's Harry. Harry Potter."

**A/N: Annnndddd...scene! So, in case you're wondering, Harry being there has thrown a wrench in the whole flock-taken-to-courtyard-then-rescued-by-Iggy-and-Gazzy thing. The whitecoats have decided that Harry's er...not-dieing...means that there is more to be learned about the flock.**

**Because I have to have Harry be tortured a bit! No story later on if he only got wings out of the deal, he needs to be trau-ma-tized!**

**So...yeah, REVIEW, and...bye!**

_**-Winged Quill**_


	2. Mazes, Shafts, and Tanks

**A/N: GAHHHHH! I thought I was gonna loose my mind writing this chapter! Not because I was uninspired, oh no. You noticed how quick I updated? Compared to my other stories who are practically screaming at me to update? Yeah, no lack of inspiration here. This is the only story that I don't have Writer's Block for, actually. The reason I had a problem here was that I got about 1/4 of the way through and realized I was writing in 3rd person. And then I got 3/4 of the way through...and realized that I was writing in past tense. Because a few paragraphs are **_**supposed**_** to be in that tense messed me up and write practically the whole thing in the wrong tense. *Bangs head repeatedly against table.***

**It was soooo much simpler back in 1st grade when I didn't even **_**know **_**that things were written in different tenses. *Sighs nostalgically* **

**Anyway, to ramble on about my life...it's snowing! FINALLY! I got to go skiing yesterday, which I'm happy about. I'm trying to get a Scholarship for a private K-12 school for next year. The English program in our school is atrocious and I want to be a writer. Not a good combo. Also, I'm writing a screenplay for a movie my friend's making (not a **_**real**_** one, obviously) so that's going well. Except that one of the actresses up and quit because she didn't get the part she wanted. Oh well, we'll find a different one (I hope!) Finally, I've started trying to write my first novel, which I hope goes well. *crosses fingers***

**DISCLAIMER: Own nothing!**

**Chapter Advertisement (putting one up last chapter too): The Muggle Fairy Tales series by Meltha. A hillarious series of Hermione telling the boys Muggle fairy tales during the Horcrux Hunt. Made me laugh so hard my cheeks ached. There are 13 so far, the last four being all in one fic (Muggle Fairy Tales are Mad.)**

**So here's chapter two: _Mazes, Shafts, and Tanks_**

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><p><em>Harry (for whole chapter)<em>

Pain.

The only thing I've felt for the past two months. That, and fear. Fear of when they would come for me, of what new torture they had concocted.

Max, Fang, Nudge, and Angel, the other human-avians, did not have it half as bad as me. I was new. That meant there was more that the whitecoats could learn from me. And that meant more experiments, more torture.

I lay limply on the floor of the crate, covered in blood from the latest round of experiments, staring out into the hallway.

I suppose you could call me a broken creature, trapped, hopeless, with no way out of this nightmare. I would have long since gone mad if the others hadn't been here. They know what I'm going through, they lived it themselves, back when there was so much new information to learn from them. Though Max had said that she couldn't have imagined 'suddenly waking up and finding yourself in this hell.' They had dealt with it for years, ever since they had been born. I've just had the rug yanked from under his feet.

Talking to them was the only distraction from this constant agony. Not really talking, more like a mental conversation. Angel had figured out to sort of 'connect' us all to her mind at once, so that we could 'talk' without the whitecoats hearing us.

I had told them about my life, leaving no part out. Not magic, not Hogwarts, not the graveyard, _nothing_. I suppose it's a breach in the Stature of Secrecy, but we're all going to die anyway. Likely from being dissected alive.

Plus, we think that they may be magic too. When they told me that most people my age would just self-destruct if they were given avian DNA, I had explained the magic, thinking that's what saved me.

And then Fang pointed out that the Flock may be magical as well. Odd things had always happened around them, and not just in a 'mutant freak' way. So, Max had come up with a theory that it was not the avian DNA and the young merging age that saved them, it was their magic.

If we ever got out of here we could all go to Hogwarts. And that' a very big 'if.' There was one huge problem that stood in our way, besides all the locked doors, guards and Erasers. I didn't know how to fly. The others had told me that it took awhile to learn, but at the same time was instinctual, sort of like walking.

I could hardly _run_ away from the School. The very idea was absurd. Max and Fang had said that they would try to carry me to a safe spot. They had practiced this on a regular human, Jeb, the traitor. For someone like me, naturally skinny and with hollow bones, it should be easy.

But that was still assuming we got out of here. Which was very unlikely.

Footsteps were coming down the hall. I stare through the bars of the crate in fear, curling up in the back corner, wrapping my hands around my knees and silently praying to every deity I'd ever heard of that they weren't here for me.

The footsteps stop in front of my crate. The door clangs open.

Hands reached in and grabbed me, hauling me to my feet. I struggle, half-heartedly, but not wanting them to think I'd been broken. I'm too stubborn for that.

The erasers and whitecoats headed down the hall. Two of the huge wolf-men held tightly to my arms. The door to a huge, gym-like room swung open.

The maze.

Of all the experiments, this was the most humiliating. It really drove home the point that I was no more then a lab rat. Electric shocks and red-hot wires made it ten times worse. And the events of the third task made the whole thing unbearable.

Today was the worst. The whitecoats had decided to have the wires constantly turned on. I must have ran over them for at least four hours. By the end of it, I could barely walk and I was exhausted.

But they weren't finished with me yet.

They take me into a very room that looks almost like a shaft, very small, very enclosed, but at least ten feet high. My wrists are handcuffed together and the chain is draped over a huge hook. I'm raised up to the ceiling of the room, a survivable fall, but I would probably break something if the whitecoats decided to drop me.

And I didn't put it past them.

But what they did was worse. They leave the room. Oh, I knew they were still watching me via camera. But still, being left on your own, hanging from your wrists ten feet in the air isn't very pleasant. Especially when you know that you're likely going to be left there for hours, days even.

That's when the lights went out. Even with my new vision, which was perfect now, and I could practically see in the dark, I could make nothing out. The whitecoats must have been sure not to let a single pinprick of light into the room.

For hours I hang there, alone. I don't know when the pins and needles started in my arms, nor when they turned into an all out agony. But then it got even worse.

Water started to spray into the room. A lot of it.

At first I thought it was just to get me wet, aggravate me. It brought to mind what had happened last week, the Chinese Water Torture. They had strapped me down and then, at random intervals, dripped water on my forehead. It sounds endurable, but I thought that I was slowly loosing my mind at the time.

But it wasn't just to annoy me, or to soak me and then make the room a freezer, as had happened a few times. No, the water was filling up the room, not draining away as it would have if it were for any of those purposes. I can't hear the gurgling sound of water down a drain, nor the sound of water hitting the metal floor. Only water pouring into water.

_I've got to get off this hook!_

I curl my hands around the chain, trying to pull it up and over the hook. After several attempts, my energy is exhausted and I hang there for a moment, close to panicking. And then a new idea came. I unfurled my wings (the whitecoats had cut slits in my shirt so that I could easily unfold them when they were required for an experiment) and tried to fly high enough to get off the infernal hook. Sure, I didn't _really_ know how to fly, but I should be able to make it a couple of feet right?

I completely forgot about how utterly _huge_ my wingspan was. I yelp as my wings slam painfully into the wall. I fold my wings shut and grab the chain again. After three desperate attempts, I slump back to my original position.

My feet brush water.

Frantically, I begin doing anything and everything I can think of to get off the hook. But it wasn't working and the water was still rising. Slower now, the whitecoats wanted to prolong my fear and desperation, but still rising.

Soon it had completely covered my feet, and was fast approaching my knees. I give another tug against the chain, my heart racing, my mind screaming. I begin to thrash about wildly, loosing any practical approach at the problem and resorting to all out panic.

It rose over my waist, up my chest, past my neck...

And then it stopped. I was completely submerged from the chin down, hanging suspended in a dark shaft, with no idea what was going to happen next.

But it hadn't stopped as I had thought. It had only slowed to the barest trickle.

Over the course of the next few hours, as the water slowly rose, I do everything I can think of to get off this hook. And then it covers my mouth like a watery gag, leaving only the barest space to breath. As I hear the floodgates opening and a rush of water, I manage to gasp one last breath, and then I was completely submerged.

The hook vanishes, letting me go, but it was useless. The water was pushing me down, down, down, towards the bottom of the shaft. I started kicking desperately, trying to use my legs to propel me to the top in lieu of my hands, which had been flung behind my back and were all but useless.

I had a few minutes before I lost consciousness, thanks to the newly-enlarged lung capacity. The world was, in fact, only just starting to go fuzzy around the edges when I reach the top.

Unfortunately, I reach it by slamming my head into it. The shaft was completely full of water. There was no way out.

The world goes black.

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><p><em>Am I dead? Cause that would suck. If this is dead, being dead is boring...and I think I'll go mad.<em>

_If I haven't already that is. Actually, that doesn't sound that bad. Being in a mental hospital would be soooo much better then whatever is actually going on. It'd be better then being stuck in a lab and being an experiment, and I'd be better then being dead._

_Although I'd much prefer being at Hogwarts, I like Hogwarts, Hogwarts is a great place to be._

_I wonder if I'd be allowed play Quidditch without a broomstick now, hmmm..._

_I don't want to be here, why am I here? I'm going to move now._

_Wait...why can't I move? WHY CAN'T I MOVE? _

_Am I saying this out loud, oh dear, I think I'm going crazy._

_You know, I had a dream once that I was on a flying motorcycle. Or did that actually happen?_

_I'm a wizard. Or is that just a dream?_

_My name is Harry Potter. Is it? Really?_

_Help me, help me._

_Someone get me out of here. Someone? Anyone? Angel? Max?_

_Are those even real people? Or are those just figments of my imagination?_

_The whitecoats, are they real? Do I have wings? Who am I? An experiment? A wizard? A human?_

_Or am I just a speck in the darkness?_

_I know how to fly, and yet, I've never learned. A broomstick? Wings? Are they really that different? Do I really have either? Am I just a fairy-tale?_

_Oh God, what's happening, that light, it's searing my eyes, please go away, please, please..._

Hands grab me and agony consumes me. I slam my eyes shut and scream.

"Harry! HARRY!"

_That's right. My name _is_ Harry Potter._

_What just happened? What kind of sick, twisted experiment _was_ that?_

"HARRY!"

I manage to open one eye a sliver.

_Max? Fang? Nudge? Angel?_

"Hurry, come on! We're getting out of here!"

The alarms started blaring.

**A/N: Ha-ha! Cliffhanger! Okay, so I'm going to post up the next chapter today, or tomorrow, or maybe Monday! *insert evil laugh here* We have a three-day weekend (four-day technically, with the snow day yesterday) so I've got plenty of time. You may have to wait on my other stories though, this one has sucked me in and I'm getting very excited writing it.**

**Oh, and in the scene with just Harry's thoughts, he was in a sensory-deprivation tank like in School's Out-Forever. The way it was described made me think that someone's train of thoughts would be like this**


	3. Escape

**A/N: So, this is up a day later then I said it would. This is because a) I hated the first draft and b) I was working on making a trailer for this fic! It can be found here http:/www. youtube .com/watch?v=EOAY-VLNY9M (without the spaces)**

**And, yeah, that's it. Like I said, this story is taking prioity over the others, as I write what I want, when I want, and you'll probably get your next update in a day or two...but I'll try to update Mysterious Mystery of the Cryptic Snitch or one of my other stories...**

**So...CHAPTER AD TIME!**

**Betrayed by katydidnt**

**In his fifth year Harry Potter was framed for murder and sentenced to Azkaban. Ten years later his innocence is proven. What will Harry do? Written PreOotP. COMPLETE!**

**MY COMMENTS: Not your typical Azkaban!Harry story, it's an utterly amazing read!**

**Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 3: Escape<strong>_

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><p>I glance down at Harry. He lies in the tank, eyes screwed up in pain, trembling so badly I know that he's never going to make it out of here alone. I now have a terrible choice to make. Leave him here, to be tortured and killed, or take him with us, and risk us all being caught.<p>

I can't just leave someone to die. But I don't want to myself.

_Don't be so selfish._

I reach down, grab him, and pull him out of the tank. He screams in pain, then immidiately stops as he chokes on his own blood. He begins to cough violently, shaking. I quickly feel his forhead. He's burning with fever.

_It's not just the tank. The tank doesn't do this... it's just an experiment with your mind._

I set him down gently and spin, grabbing a half-dazed whitecoat by the shirt and slamming him into a wall.

"What. Did. You. Do?"

"I-I, we just p-put him in the t-tank."

"Liar. Tell me now," I swing him over the dreaded tank, "or you'll see how it feels."

Sweat beads on his forhead. I shrug. "Suit yourself."

I drop him in and am just about to pull the lid over when he suddenly cries out. "Wait! I'll tell you!"

I casually lean against the side of the tank, watching the Flock (which now includes Harry) out of the corner of my eye. They stand over the unconcious whitecoats, watching for any signs of life. The Erasers, thankfully, are out training new recruits and hunting down new 'specimens.' We timed the escape perfectly, managing to knock out the whitecoats that came to get us for an experiment, before coming here, at Angel's direction.

The whitecoat tells me what they injected Harry with, before throwing him in the tank, and I wince. It's certainly painful, and it doesn't just 'work it's way out' of your system. Not for weeks. You need the anti-toxin to speed things up and until then it's constant agony. We can't afford to wait and get the anti-toxin.

_Dr. Martinez._

I give the whitecoat one last, long look.

"You're a monster."

I let the lid fall shut, before turning to the Flock.

"Right," I say, grabbing Harry in a fireman's carry. "We need to get out of here, and fast. Let's get back to the cave, try and meet up with Iggy and Gazzy. Then we need to take Harry to Dr. Martinez and get him the anti-toxin for this stuff ASAP. Got it?"

They nod and I slam my foot into the door, knocking it open and sprinting down the hall. When we reach the end of it, I don't hesitate before kicking a window open and handing one of Harry's arms to Fang, keeping hold of the other. He whimpers in pain, screwing his eyes shut.

We need to get him out of here.

The alarms are still blaring and I can now here the approaching footsteps of the whitecoats. I spin around to see ten of them, coming towards us angrily.

We could have just jumped out the window. But I had an idea.

Fang and I gingerly set Harry on the ground, where he lay shaking in pain, before turning vback to the whitecoats.

I roundhouse kick the first one right in the head. The fight lasts maybe a minute before all ten white lie unconcious.

Pssh...humans. No fighting skills whatsoever.

I snatch a cellphone from the nearest one, before grabbing Harry by the arm again and leaping out the window. Ah, free at last. Feels nice.

I was merely bored for most of the time in the School. A few experiments, yeah, no biggie. Harry on the other hand...

The thing about when we were younger, there were more of us. So we couldn't be constantly experimented on. Harry hadn't had any _new_ 'subjects' to take time off of his torture. He had been gone for hours at a time, sometimes days. The whitecoats were getting more creative and aggressive too, we all knew this from our 'mind conversations' with Harry.

For example, they had starved him for a week and then, for two weeks afterwards, only fed him by shoving a tube down his throat. (A/N: For those of you who have seen the movie _Iron Jawed Angels_, that's where I got the idea.) He had been coughing and throwing up blood constantly afterwards. It was sickening what lengths the whitecoats would go to gain knowledge.

We flew for maybe an hour, not talking, all keeping an eye on Harry, who only seemed to get worse as time went by. By the time we reached the cave, he was shivering constantly, and would sometimes let out a blood-curdling scream.

"Max?"

I turn to see Gazzy, looking at me happily. "You're alive!"

"Yeah, yeah," I say hurridly, setting Harry on the ground and flipping the phone open. "Angel! Fill in Gaz and Ig on the new development."

_The magic thing too?_

_Yeah._

I hurridly punch in Dr. Martinez's number and hold the phone to my ear.

_Ring...ring..._

"Hello?"

"Dr. Martinez? It's Max."

"Max! What a pleasant surprise!"

"Thanks. Er, can you do us a favor?"

"Us?"

"Me and my...friends. Can you drive down to Lake Mead? And bring an anti-toxin?"

"Okay...what for?"

I quickly tell her.

"Why...would anyone..." She sounds horrified.

"Please, I'm begging you, my friend..."

"Okay, okay, I'll be there as soon as possible!"

She hangs up.

We wait for a few hours, Harry only getting worse and worse. Iggy and Gazzy were staring at Angel in disbelief.

"Crazier things have happened, I guess," says Iggy finally, sitting back.

I wince as Harry screams again. He spasms, his hands flying out wildly, and when his eyes flash open, I jolt back at the look in them. It's one of pure agony.

I can hear a low rumbling beneath us. I glance over the side of the cliff to see Dr. Martinez parked next to the lake, holding her bag and looking around.

"Quick! Let's move!" I take Harry's right arm again, and Fang wordlessly takes the left. The seven of us fly down to Dr. Martinez.

"Max, hello, nice to see you again," she says hurridly, taking Harry from me and setting him on the ground. She doesn't seem to keen on exchanging pleasentries, and frankly, I'm glad. The sooner Harry gets the anti-toxin, the better.

She looks horrified as another spasm racks Harry, and his eyes snap open.

"Help me...please...it hurts so much..."

"I-I'm going to," she says, shaken by the pain in his eyes. He shudders as his eyes widen, and a scream tears itself from his mouth.

Dr. Martinez shakily prepares a sryinge, wincing at the horrified look he gives it.

"Please...no..."

"This-this'll make the pain go away," she says reassuringly, plunging the needle into his arms. He continues to shake.

"It'll take about an hour for the poison to work it's way out of your system," she tells him.

"Hurts..."

A tortured screech flies from his throat, and his nails claw at the dirt despratley. She grabs his hand.

"Look at me, listen, you'll be fine, you'll be fine."

"No I won't..."

"You will, I promise."

Another scream.

The hour passes and slowly, the screams subside. Harry's eyelids finally droop shut, and Dr. Martinez lets go of his hand. She looks horrified.

"Who would do that to a child?"

"The whitecoats. I don't think they have a single speck of humanity left in them," I respond steadily.

She nods slowly, a look of pain in her features.

"I thought...they promised me...that they would...they wouldn't...thought I knew what I was-what I was..."

She breaks down into sobs. "HOW COULD I HAVE DONE THIS?" she screams. I stare at her in shock. She knew the whitecoats? And yet didn't seem to know how...

"Dr. Martinez. What do you mean?" I ask.

"My...daughter. I donated an egg and...they said that they would give her wings and give her back-and that they wouldn't hurt her. And then they told me that it failed and that she was dead and..." another heartbroken sob "how could I have even considered giving her to those monsters?"

I pause. "Do you know anything about your daughter? Anything at all? I may know her, may be able to help find her... if she's still alive."

She nods weakly. "They told me...her identification number."

"And it was..."

"I have it memorized," she laughs shakily. "Silly of me is it? 554-789-AF-246."

I practically faint.

It's my number.

**A/N: So Max has found out the truth about her mother earlier then it was written. I actually never intended Dr. Martinez to come up, but then I came up with the idea of Harry being posioned and...the plot bunnies took over. Next up, how the heck are they going to get back to England? **

**REVIEW and you'll probably find out faster! Reviews inspire me!**


	4. Awakening and Reflection

**A/N: So…here's the next chapter! A little short, but I really just needed to get the point across. NONE OF MY OTHER STORIES ARE UN-WRITER'S-BLOCK-IFYING! So…bad for fans of those stories, good for fans of this one. Anyway…for the chapter ad…just read the Past, Present, and Future Reading the Books series by UnknownUnseenUnheard. They are THE BEST reading the books stories I've ever read! And…the only one with an actual plot…and frequent updates…and overall awesomeness. Anywho…no, I don't own ANYTHING here! Nothing! Got it?**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Four: Awakening and Reflection<strong>_

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><p>I am in pain. Not the fiery all-consuming needle stabs of before, more like an all-around achiness, but still pain. The last thing I can remember before now is a burst of what felt like fire and then blackness. I manage to open my eyes and sit up. I am in a very soft bed. A hallucination then. It had to be. The whitecoats never gave us beds. Only the hard bottom of the dog crates and the fear inducing hospital beds.<p>

I swallow nervously. What were they doing to me now? Why bother with such a cruel mirage of safety? I glance around, carefully observing my surroundings. It seems like a guest bedroom. I clamber out of bed and my legs buckle underneath me, sending me tumbling to the floor. I crawl across the ground and manage to stand up by bracing my hand against the dresser. I lean against the dresser and then the door creaks open.

I whirl around, instinctually bringing my hands up to defend myself. _Max?_

"You're awake. We were getting worried."

"Save it."

"Scuse me?"

"I know that it's a hallucination. You don't even have to bother to try and fool me anymore."

"Harry…don't you remember what happened?"

I pause briefly. It all comes rushing back, a blur of pain and fear. Being lifted out of somewhere dark and cold, being carried, an intense, burning pain, a woman with a needle that somehow made the pain go away. Quite a surprise, that. Needles never made pain go _away_.

"Where are we?"

"My mom's house."

"Your _mom?"_

"I didn't know actually. Remember how I told you about Dr. Martinez? She's actually my mom."

"Wow. Did she know?"

"No, actually. Well, I'd better go. Gotta tell her you're awake and all that."

"How long have I been out?"

"Two days."

"Wait…what's the date?"

"August 28th." She smiles at me quickly, then goes.

And then it hit me. The 28th. That meant that, in four days, I'd be heading back to Hogwarts. But I wasn't really…me anymore. I wasn't even _human_. I was just a freak.

How long will it be till my friends find out? Hermione is a genius. She figured out Professor Lupin's secret effortlessly. Who's to say she won't discover mine?

I bury my head in my hands, trying to stifle a sob. I don't cry easily. Really, I don't. The fact that the whitecoats could make me only showed how monstrous they are. And in terms of emotional pain…well, becoming a freak would be enough to make anyone break down, I guess.

You might think I'd have come to terms with it when it first happened. But the experiments were so agonizing I really hadn't had time to think of anything else.

And now there's nothing to distract me from this. All I can think about is the fact that I have wings. I have wings. I. Have. _Wings_.

And I still can't fly.

I stand on shaky legs and mentally slap myself. I can't fly. So I have to learn. Being sorry for myself isn't going to help anyone. I shove all of my emotions out of the way. I'm not going to cry. Not going to be so weak.

I walk out into the hallway. "Max?" I call out.

She sticks her head out from the kitchen. "Yes?"

"Could you teach how to-how to-"

"Fly?"

"Yeah."

She smiles at me, a little sadly. "Sure. No problem. There's a woodsy, hilly area nearby. We could go there tomorrow, when you're a little more rested."

"Harry?"

I turn around to see a friendly looking woman with warm brown eyes smiling at me.

"Hello, Dr. Martinez."

She doesn't seem to really know what to say to me. Probably because I was writhing in pain the last time we spoke.

"Are you feeling better?"

"I'm fine."

She sighs. "You can't be _fine. _It can take _weeks_ to recover from that kind of toxin."

"Mom? Super fast healing rate, remember?"

"Yes, yes, but still…"

"So," I say abruptly, wanting to change the subject. "How are we getting to England?"

"Max explained everything to me. She said the parents of Muggleborns are allowed to know."

"Yes, that's allowed. What was your reaction?" I ask, remembering my own all those years ago.

"I think I was skeptical, then Angel showed me some 'mind pictures' and…I think I fainted."

"I remember saying that I was 'Just Harry.' Hardly true though. Especially not now." I laugh ruefully.

She smiles awkwardly, while Max gives me a sympathetic look.

"Sorry."

"Don't be. I understand. Anyway, to answer your question about England, I bought you some plane tickets."

"You don't have to-"

"Of course I don't. I want to. Anyway, your flight leaves on the 30th, so you can learn how to…fly and recover from your ordeal."

I nod shortly. "Thank you, Dr. Martinez. Speaking of which… Max- is it Ride still, or Martinez?"

"Both, I just made Ride my middle name. Maximum Ride Martinez."

"Ah." We stand there for a moment, not saying anything.

"Hello!" I turn to see Nudge-smiling like crazy-and the rest of the flock.

"Hey, Nudge. Hey everyone."

"Hi Harry. Mind describing yourself so I can picture you?" One of the ones I don't recognize says. Must be Iggy-Max told me he's blind.

"Sure. Just get me to a mirror first, no idea what I look like now."

"Oh that's right…you wouldn't. Follow me," Max says, leading me into the hallway. Hanging there is a rather large mirror. I stare into it in shock. I look…different. Older. Haunted.

My eyes are more wary, suspicious of everyone and everything around me. My skin is almost chalky in pallor. My hair hangs down almost to my shoulders, and is matted into clumps. I'm covered in dirt and dried blood. My clothes are in tatters and I'm covered in cuts, bruises and red circular marks.

"Do these ever go away?" I ask, touching one of them lightly. I hate each and every last one of these markings, they're all just a reminder of the pain and fear.

Max shakes her head and rolls up her sleeve, showing one or two of the marks, before dropping it again. Apparently she doesn't like them either. And, to be quite frank, I don't blame her.

I turn back to my reflection and stare. I'm almost frightened by myself. If I saw someone like this, my first instinct would be to run.

"I…need a shower." I turn and sprint down the hallway.

"Let him go." I hear Fang say. Probably to Dr. Martinez, as any of the Flock would've had the sense to do so.

I run in the bathroom and slam the door closed behind me, bolting it shut. I turn to the mirror and cautiously extend my wings. Harry Potter does not stare back at me from behind the glass. Some sort of Dark Creature gazes back at me, eyes full of pain, haunted shadows flickering across them.

I do the only thing I can think of doing. I turn away from the mirror so I don't have to see my reflection, turn the shower on full blast, and cry.

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><p><strong>AN: So…Harry's not telling anybody what he's thinking. That can only lead to a loud angst-filled explosion later on (hint, hint.) And…next chapter HARRY LEARNS HOW TO FLY. This should be…interesting to say the least.**


	5. Death Sentence

**A/N: Hi peoples! Sooo...before you murder me...I've been really, really busy! Went to a trip to Quebec, my birthday was yesterday, (14!) and...on top of all that, I'm sick. Home from school today with nothing better to do then to type fanfiction so...**

**Anyway, sorry about my lack of a consistent updating schedule, but I just write when I can, what I'm in the mood for writing. I've found that not being forced to cater to a specific date makes the quality better, as you actually enjoy writing it. So that explains the lack of updating for my other two stories...MMotCS is trying to kill me, I swear... And on top of all that, I was attacked by another plot bunny...sigh. I REALLY don't want to start any new stories, since, y'know, I've alread got three WIPs... (ah well-maybe I'll just type it now and not post it till MMotCS is done, it'd be a Blind!Harry fic...)**

**But, winter break is next week, and I'm not doing anything, so...expect looooots of updates next week! (hoping to finish or at least put a serious dent in MMotCS, that way it's done and out-of-the-way! I really don't want to abandon it, but I just want to finish it! So probably less memories...quicker updates...who knows!)**

**DISCLAIMER: Rowling and Patterson's empires! Not mine!**

**So...chapter ad time!**

**Hallowed Time Twists by Muffliato: Really good time-travel story of an adult-Harry and his kids traveling back to Harry's 5th-year. A WIP but with really quick updates! Enjoyable and a page-turner (screen scroller?) **

_**Chapter Five: Death Sentence **_

"Alright Harry, just focus...Think about what you need to do. Put all of your heart and soul into getting off the ground."

"That it so unbelievably cheesy."

Max glares at me. "I've never done this before, okay?" she snaps, dropping the ninja-training-master act. "If you wanna figure out how to fly yourself, be my guest."

"Fine. Okay. Focus. Think cheesy thoughts."

"Good. Now, FLY!" And with that, she shoves me off the cliff.

I frantically flap my wings, managing to rise back in the air and wobbly make my way over to the cliff edge.

"Nice Max. Push someone who _doesn't know how to fly _off a _cliff_. Real sweet of you."

She waves me off. "It was only like, ten feet," she says. "And you did fine."

I sigh. We'd been at this for awhile, most of the day actually. I'd managed to get some altitude with a running start. So Max had promptly decided to take me up a cliff. Not enough of a drop to actually kill me but...

"Good. Now, watch me." She takes off gracefully and does a smooth, banking circle. "Now you try."

I struggle to copy her, promptly crashing into a tree. "Ow..."

She sniggers. "Ah...the joys of schooling a fledgling."

"...fledgling, Max? _Fledgling?"_

"Indeed," she says, regaining the ninja-act. "You have much to learn, Young Grasshopper."

"Ha-ha. So funny I forgot to laugh."

She pouts. "You didn't like my joke?"

"Let me think about it...no."

I turn back to the cliff edge, focusing on a nearby hawk. It made the banking maneuver look so _easy,_ perhaps I should focus more on the right wing instead of...

"AHHH!"

And Max had shoved me off the cliff. Again. The image of the hawk was superimposed into my brain, so I did the only thing that came naturally. I tried the maneuver. A second later, I found myself soaring upwards, into the open sky.

_What do you know? It worked._

I flap my wings once, experimentally. It takes me even higher. I'm above the trees now, surrounded by the sky. Max flies up to join me.

"Nice work. Now, let's see how good you are at follow-the-leader."

It turns out that flying is quite easy when you don't have to worry about hitting a tree. It comes naturally, even more so than a broom. A laugh bubbles up in my throat as I follow Max into an exhilarating dive. It's snatched away by the wind. I watch as Max snaps out her wings at the last possible second, and zooms into the sky. I pull up behind her and follow. It's as if I'm on an endless roller-coaster that I control. The sensation of freedom is one I've never truly experienced before in my life. Sure, there's broomsticks. But this is faster, more powerful, and it somehow makes me feel more_ alive._

_Maybe I did gain something out of this whole experience after all._

It's when we're zooming back to Earth when it happens. I put my arms out in front of me, Superman-style, just for the heck of it, when I see something on my arm that wasn't there before.

We touch down a second later and I fall over in a tangle of limbs (need to work on those landings.) I clamber to my feet and examine my left forearm.

It's like a tattoo. Jet black and etched into my skin. But I never got one, and...it makes no sense. Why would anyone tattoo a date into my arm?

_06/10/1996_

"Harry! That was great, you flew really well-"

She trails off at my look of confusion. "What?"

I show her my arm. She stares at it for an instant, just an instant, before the grin fades from her face and is replaced by horror.

"What?" I ask in panic. "What's so awful about having a date on my arm?"

"We need to hold a flock meeting," she says shakily. "Now."

"Max, what's wrong? Please, tell me what's wrong!"

She shakes her head, tears starting to form in her eyes. Denial maybe? But over _what?_

Within a few minutes of flying, me in inner turmoil all the while, we've reached the rest of the flock, who are eating a picnic lunch.

"Everyone, meeting, now!" Max yells, sounding an inch away from panic.

"What's wrong?" asks Fang, looking at me, then at Max. Angel's eyes widen, and she gives me a look of grief.

"Remember what Angel told us? When she heard the whitecoats thinking about the expiration dates?"

"Yes. So?"

She grabs my arm and turns it over, showing the date to the others. They stare at it in shock.

"Would someone please tell me what is going on?" I ask, yanking my arm out of Max's grasp. "Please!"

"One day...when you were, um, gone..." Max begins. I wince. Gone translates into being tortured by the whitecoats. "...Angel heard the whitecoats thinking about expiration dates. We meant to tell you, but-"

"Expiration dates? What are expiration dates?" I cut her off, a feeling of dread coiling in my stomach.

"All of us...we have these dates...programmed into us."

"What happens on the date?" I ask frantically, staring at my arm. _Please...don't let it be death...anything but that._

"I think you already know the answer to that."

I collapse to my knees, numb with horror. My brain feels like it's shutting down.

_I'm dying, I'm dying, Someone help me...anyone...I don't want to die! I'm too young! I'm only fifteen!_

"NO!" I scream desprately. "Please, Max...please...tell me I'm not dying!" My voice breaks and I manage to choke out a whisper, "...please."

"I-I'm sorry."

Those two stuttered words...they were my death sentence. Literally.

"...no." My voice cannot rise above a broken whisper. "Why?" I scream. "Why, _why, WHY?"_

None of them seem to be able to answer my desprate question.

"Harry..."

"Please, Max. Please...just...go..."

They each give me one final look, pain in their eyes, before they leave. And then I start to sob, and scream, and, although I've never been religious, I begin to pray to every deity I've ever heard of to remove the date from my arm. But it doesn't work.

As the sun fades from the sky, and my world breaks, I struggle to come to terms with one, simple, earth-shattering fact.

I'm dying.

**A/N: *smirks* Poor, poor Harry...what is it in my stories making him know (or think) he's going to die in a matter of months? I did a similar thing in From the Ink...**

**AND! I have an idea for a story! (not sure when/if I'd post it, I'd love your input!) It would be set in the same universe as NTSNA and would feature all of fifth-year Hogwarts, the third-year trio plus Ginny, and maybe some other surprise guests reading the HP books! (and maybe NTSNA too-who knows!) Soooo...yeah, I've got two problematic plot bunnies and my automatic spell checker seems to have broken...sigh...**

**So, REVIEW! I believe I shall have them going to Diagon Alley next chapter...one more thing! Should I have Iggy's sight restored by magic? I've considered it, but I'd like your guys' opinion.**

**So, until next time!**

_**-Winged Quil**_


	6. Reunion

**A/N: Yo. Don't have much to say just...KCWROX, here you go! *ties up Fang and Harry and teleports them to her* Have fun! And DarkNeko400, that's it, STOP ASKING ME WHAT HAPPENS NEXT! Really, can you at least let me know if the chapter is good, what can be improved, construcive critism, etc? And I happen to know that a friend of mine PMed you to STOP! (w/o my knowledge at the time, actually didn't even know she was on this site...and she didn't know this was my story, funny huh?) PLEASE! STOP IT! And I wouldn't be telling you this over the A/N except you disabled your PM. So, just stop...**

**DISCLAIMER: OWN NOTHING! **

**Chapter Ad: Susan Bones and The Prisoner of Azkaban by joemjackson. **

**Summary: What if Harry Potter was sent to Azkaban for killing Cedric Diggory? What if a Hufflepuff questioned his conviction?**

**MY COMMENTS: Really good, especially if you like Harry/Susan.**

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><p><strong><em>Chapter Six: Reunion<em>**

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><p>I stare out the plane window, my eyes trained on the clouds. I can hear Max shifting in the seat next to me, unsure of what to do or say. Everyone's been walking on pins and needles around me since yesterday. I guess I've been kinda...out of it. Numb, not speaking to anyone, in constant turmoil. My life was shattered once when I learned I had wings. Again when the experiments started. And now, the worst, most shattering of them all. I'm dying. And I know the exact date of my death.<p>

_June tenth..._

Not enough time. Not enough to experience life. I'm not even going to make it to my sixteenth birthday. Heck, I'm not even going to make it to the end of fifth year! I wonder, morbidly, if I'll slowly get sicker and sicker, or if it'll be a sudden demise. I remember what I had been like yesterday...

_I stayed in the forest all last night, crying, shaking, never sleeping. This morning I went back to the house so we could catch our early flight. I want to spend my last few months with my friends, even if I'll never need the information we'll learn this year. I don't want to die alone. Dr. Martinez took one look at me before bursting into tears and fleeing the room. None of the Flock had known what to say. Even Nudge was silent._

_I said nothing, just walked out to the car. After calming down, Dr. Martinez drove us to the airport._

_She never looked at me. Not once. When she said farewell to us, she had hesitated before hugging me._

_"Harry..."_

_"Goodbye," I said sadly. We both had known that this was the last time she'd see me alive._

_"Goodbye," she whispered, as we headed to our flight._

"Anything I can get you?"

I'm jerked back into the present by the voice of a flight attendent.

"Coke please," Max says.

"Just water for me, thanks," I respond, then murmur my thanks as she hands me a bottle. I twist the cap off and take a sip, resuming my staring out the window.

I breifly wonder what my friends will say when we meet again. I wonder if they will figure out our secret before my death. Max and the others will have to tell them after, how else would they explain away the fact that their friend just suddenly dropped dead?

We have a cover story up until...that point. We will claim to have been captured by Death Eaters, and that the Flock-minus-me were on the run from their former captors their whole lives. It's the truth. Kinda. And my friends will assume that we were tortured, so that can be used to explain away the scars and markings...

I rest my head on the window and sigh. Who am I kidding?

Our plan is simple: go to Diagon Alley, get our stuff, and then Floo to the Burrow from there. It should take Ron and Hermione about, oh...two seconds, to figure out that something was wrong with me.

"We are arriving in London. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened." I watch as we get closer and closer to the ground. _Showtime_.

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><p><em>Hermione<em>

I sit at a table in The Leaky Cauldron, holding a butterbear and lost in thought. We were going back to Hogwarts in two days. Without Harry. My best friend. I can't even imagine what he's going through right now. Torture? Or is he dead?

Ron takes my hand and smiles at me. I can feel a faint jolt of electricity pass through our fingers. I've always sort of fancied Ron, though he was an insensitive git at times. But other times, like now, he always seemed to know exactly what I was thinking. And he always made me feel better when it truly mattered.

He said nothing, just holding my hand.

"So...you're saying that all we have to do is wave around random sticks and see which one shoots out sparks?"

I hear a girl's voice, sarcastically incredulous, but also with that definite 'try-and-lighten-the-atmosphere-with-a-joke' tone of voice.

"Mmmm..." Whoever she was trying to cheer up clearly wasn't...cheering up.

I hear the people who were talking come over and sit at the table next to us.

"I still can't believe magic actually exists!" Okay, that person's hyper.

"Sooo...what stores are we going to?"

"Er...Flourish and Blotts, Ollivander's, the Aphrocey, Eeylop's if you want an owl, Madame Malkin's, The Quill and Parchment Shop, then back here so we can Floo to the Burrow..."

I sit bolt upright. _The Burrow?_

I exchange a glance with Ron, then turn my attention to the strangers. There are seven of them. The one who was explaining the shops had black hair, green eyes, and looked distinctly familiar.

"Harry!" I gasp. He stops talking and his eyes snap on to mine.

"Hermione? Ron?"

"It _is _you!" I yell, and run over to him, closely followed by Ron.

I pull him into a hug, noticing faintly that he stiffens slightly.

"Where have you _been_? We've been looking _everywhere _for you, oh _Harry!"_

"Me and my friends, we were kidnapped by Death Eaters..." It is then that I notice the empty, haunted look in his eyes. He's also ditched the glasses, but I don't really care about that at the moment. His expression reminds me of photographs I've seen of war victims, aged by torment.

_Torture..._

"Oh God, Harry, I'm so sorry."

He smiles sadly. "It's... it's fine, Hermione."

"Harry..."

"Ron really, I don't want to talk about it. It's in the past."

"Sirius...he's been...off since you disappeared. Very quiet, depressed. Not speaking to anyone. Listless. He was working night and day to find you Harry, I don't think I've ever seen one person drink so much coffee..."

"Where is Sirius?"

"Well...all of the Weasleys came to Diagon Alley today, to get our school supplies. We needed an inconspicuous guard and-" I trail off, not wanting to say anything in front of Harry's new friends.

"It's alright Hermione, they know. All of it. I practically told them my life story, it was the only thing that kept me from going insane."

_Insane. The torture was that bad? Harry could have lost his mind?_

The very thought repulses me. The idea that someone could do that to a child, especially when said child happens to be my_ best friend,_ makes me livid.

"Well...okay," Ron's voice jolts me out of my thoughts. He clearly was thinking along the same lines I was, as a ghost of anger lingers on his features. "So, as Hermione was saying, we needed an inconspicuous guard and Snuffles did the trick."

"If you're being guarded," begins one of Harry's fellow captives, the oldest girl, "then why are you by yourself?"

Ron fidgeted nervously. "We...um...sorta gave them the slip."

She grins. "Nice. Well, why don't we go find them so we can have a big, happy family reunion, shall we?"

She leads the way. "Oh...Ig..." she adds as an afterthought, turning to a tall, pale boy "Lots of people, you may wanna stick close or hold on to one of us." It's then that I notice that the boy...Ig she called him?...had unfocused, cloudy eyes.

_Blind_.

"Did the Death Eaters do this to you?" I demand, stepping closer.

"Yes," he says, as if daring me to call him weak.

"The reunion will have to be put on hold," I say, grabbing his arm. "You follow me."

I lead him through the streets, furious that someone would do this. Fortunatley, blindness is very easily cured, in most cases. There are a few weird things that can cause it to be permanent, hopefully that didn't happen to Ig.

I lead Ig to the Potion Shop, vaguely noticing that the others have followed me curiously. I step up to the counter and ask for a sight-restoration potion.

"Unusual request, but I think we may have one left..." The lady digs around in the back room for awhile, and I turn to see Ig with a ghost of hope on his face.

"Here. That'll be 10 Galleons," she says, holding out her hand for the money. I wince, it's rather expensive but...it's worth it.

I hand over the money then turn and give the potion to Ig.

"Drink."

He eagerly grabs it and drains it in one gulp. He blinks a few times in confusion, then his eyes slowly start to focus. Slowly he pivots, looking around the shop in amazement, then he turns to me and the lady at the counter.

"I...I...THANK YOU!"

"No problem," I say, and the lady at the counter just smiles. "Now I believe we had a reunion to get to."

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><p><em>Sirius<em>

The Weasleys are frantically looking for their youngest son, along with Hermione, and I am helping the best I can. It would be awful if they went missing especially so soon after...

_Don't think about that._ I told myself sternly. _Harry. Is. Alive!_

_Yeah, and if he was alive do you really think the Death Eaters would just leave him alone? Dead...or being tortured. Which one do you think is worse?_

_Shut up!_

_Talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity._

I sigh, resigned to the fact that I'll always be crazy, and continue the search.

"Mum! MUM!"

Oh...there's Ron. So he wasn't kidnapped after all. Good. Less work to do.

"Mum, Dad, everyone, you'll never believe who I just found in The Leaky Cauldron!"

_"Why were you and Hermione in The Leaky Cauldron when we were supposed to stick together? We were worried sick!"_ Wow, who knew Molly Weasley could impersonate a banshee so well?

"Yell at me later, okay Mum? Please? This is really important!"

_"I'll yell at you when I want-"_

"Molly." Arthur cuts her off. "Maybe we should listen. It does sound important."

She glares at him for a moment before deflating. "Fine. But this better be good!"

"Oh it is-"

"Can I come out now?" The voice that cuts Ron's off sounds exasperated. It also sounds very familiar...

_It can't be..._

"Waaay to ruin the surprise, Harry," says Ron, looking happily annoyed. "Fine, you can come out."

"Thank you!" says 'Harry' and he shoulders his way through the small crowd that I am only now just noticing gathered behind Ron.

I stare at 'Harry.' I would have thought he was an imposter, heck, I had thought he was an imposter when I only heard his voice! But his eyes...oh God, his eyes, they look like mine did when I escaped Azkaban. Haunted, jaded. No child's eyes should ever look like that. And I know that it's a mark of whatever torture his kidnappers had put him through. I'm furious. I want to rip whoever did this into tiny shreds, tear them limb from limb.

"Oh, _Harry," _says Molly, drawing the boy into a hug. He stiffens, and it breaks my heart that he would be so tense over just a hug. He pulls back after a moment, bends down to scratch me on the ears.

"Missed you, Snuffles," he murmurs. And then the last doubts of it being Harry are wiped from my head.

As we set off down the alleyway shopping, Harry and the children I learn are his fellow captives explaining everything, a sense of loss overcomes me.

_Oh Harry, what have they done to you?_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: There will be a heart-to-heart between Harry and Sirius, don't worry! Several in fact, and there will be a large amount of angst and tears for those of you into that kinda thing!**

**Also...I made a better trailer for this...can be found at http:/www. youtube. com/watch?v=wt-WpX6WsSY (w/o spaces)**

**Figured out how to mute the clips...trailer also fits the fic better. I also fixed the audio on my old trailer and put in a different song...fixed version can be found at http:/www. youtube. com/watch?v=NF0rFqxU0uY (again w/o spaces)**

**Finally, I figured out a way better summary for this fic, so...yeah...**

**So, adios! Au revoir! Until next time!**

_**-Winged Quill**_


	7. Nightmares and a Heart to Heart

**A/N: Sorry for the lack of updates! Been crazy busy, had writer's block...etc. So, those of you who are still reading the lousy piece of crap that is MMotCS, I won't be updating in awhile. Probably not From the Ink either. I'm updating this because I have inspiration, when I have no inspiration, the story is awful.**

**And I now have a beta! Give it up for KCWROX! So, I will be posting up the story un-beta-d first, then I'll post up the beta-d version when she's done editing. That way you can all have updates ASAP.**

**And I have to give a shout-out. UnknownUnseenUnheard, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for PM-ing back and forth with me, and giving me some spectacular ideas! I don't think the story would be nearly as exciting without you giving me some ideas and tips, so once again, thanks a million!**

**DISCLAIMER: ...right...I own this. That was sarcasm, in case you couldn't tell.**

**CHAPTER AD: Mmm...thinking...what haven't I already done...**

**Well, Partially Kissed Hero, by Perfect Lionheart is always good if you want ManipulativeandEvil!Dumbles and Super-ish!Harry. Basically, a Dementor kisses Harry, knocking Tom Riddle's soul loose, allowing Harry to access the info in Tom's soul and then...stuff happens. I didn't read the whole thing, it was long and I have the attention span of a two-year-old, but I remember liking it!**

**Beta note: I personally think this is a great chapter! Have fun reading it!**

_**Chapter Seven: Nightmares and a Heart-to-Heart (NOW BETA-D)**_

_Harry_

Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Doom and gloom, but better than a lab with people wanting to dissect you. So, for a one-day, one-night stay, it'll do.

"Harry."

I turn around, making eye contact with Sirius. He stands in the doorway of the room I share with Ron, Fang, and Iggy, looking pained.

"Can I talk to you?"

I shrug, and step out, following Sirius down the hall, down the stairs, and into a formal living room. He directs me to sit in the armchair closest to the fire and I sink down into it, before meeting his gaze with an inquisitive look.

"You wanted to talk?"

"Yeah." I notice he looks slightly uncomfortable. "Um...Harry, do you want to talk about...this summer? Get it off your chest?"

I stare at him in disbelief for a second, then slowly shake my head. "I don't think I can," I say, avoiding his eyes. My voice is still raspy, my vocal chords probably damaged from my constant screaming. Whether it's permanent or not, I don't know. Good thing I'm not a singer, or my career would have been ruined...

I mentally shake myself, snapping out of my tangent, and turn my attention back to Sirius.

"Why?"

"I..." I swallow, then try to speak again. "It...brings back memories. Talking about it, I mean. Ones that I'd rather forget."

"Harry...please, just talk to me."

"I'm sorry. I can't. I tried talking to Max, it just made the nightmares worse."

"You're having nightmares?"

"Every night."

"About?"

"They're memories. The memories of...the summer."

Sirius winces.

"What did the Death Eaters want with you?"

Showtime. My act was on.

"I don't know if they were Death Eaters, exactly. I just… assumed they were, since no other group of wizards had any reason to kidnap me. But they never talked to me, except to taunt me. I don't know what they wanted with me, or with any of the others."

Sirius just nods. He has a look that says he doesn't quite believe me.

"Well, if that's all..." I stand, nod at Sirius, and start to exit the room.

"Harry."

I turn.

"If you ever want to talk about anything, I'll be here."

For a minute I'm tempted to go back, sit down, burst into tears and tell him everything, the wings, the School, the expiration date, _everything_.

But if I did that I'd be weak. And I have to stay strong.

"I'll keep that in mind."

And I walk out.

_A woman stands over me. She has short black hair that falls just below her ears, quite a few gruesome scars on her face, cold, merciless eyes the color of coal, and a sadistic smile on her face. She grins at me as the Erasers secure my flailing limbs to a pristine lab table._

_My eyes meet hers, full of fear and begging for mercy._

_She just laughs._

_She flicks on a tape recorder, which will probably be used later to analyze my anguished cries, and pulls a red-hot poker from a nearby furnace._

_I struggle in vain against my bonds as she approaches, her laughs growing louder and louder with every step she takes. How does she live with herself? How does she sleep at night?_

_I manage to hold back a scream as the iron burns into my arm, shutting my eyes in a desperate attempt to keep myself from crying._

_After maybe a minute the iron is removed, and I inhale shakily, trying to fill my lungs with air now that I don't have to hold back streams._

_I glance at my arm, where the angry burn will soon fade and join the dozens of other marks._

_I don't even notice as she comes up behind me, holding a pot of molten metal._

_This time, I scream._

"Harry! HARRY!"

I gasp, jolting upright in bed. Ron, Fang, and Iggy stand over me, staring at me in concern.

"Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine. Just a nightmare."

Iggy and Fang seem to understand perfectly, nodding at me with sympathetic looks before collapsing back into their beds. Ron lingers for a moment.

"Are you sure you're alright? You were screaming."

"I'm fine."

He doesn't seem to know what to say. Finally, he just nods, before climbing back into bed.

I roll over, remembering the dream, or more appropriately, flashback. The woman. She had been the one to torment me the most. She was also the one who was the most creative with her torture methods. She loved to use hot and cold, freezing and burning me constantly. And electricity. More than half of my electrode marks had been gained under her watchful eye.

I didn't even know her name. None of the other whitecoats ever called her by it. I could tell that she was the lady in control though. The way the other whitecoats seemed to fear her...and with good reason.

I shudder, force the image of her pain-promising smile out of my head and try to get some sleep.

Finally it comes.

"Come on! We're running late, we're going to miss the train!"

I follow behind the happy group of my friends and family. Making the train seems so meaningless now, so trivial. Half of me wonders why I'm even bothering going back to school this year. Why am I wasting the last year of my life? Why am I getting an education I'll never need when I should be seeing the wonders that the world has to offer?

But I don't want to spend the time bitter and alone, every second tense, waiting, counting down the days.

Maybe being at Hogwarts can take my mind of my death sentence. Just maybe.

But somehow I doubt it.

"Harry?"

Hermione's voice snaps me out of my morbid thoughts.

"Oh. Sorry. Just thinking."

She smiles at me, tight-lipped. None of my friends seem to know what to say. It's like they're walking on thin ice around me, tiptoeing, not knowing what to say in case it's the wrong thing.

And I was once like that, it seems. Once cared that what I said would label me as a freak, once cared what people thought of me. But now...

I don't care whether or not people think I'm crazy, or a liar. I just can't seem to muster up the energy _to_ care. I'll be dead soon anyway, so why bother?

Just before I run through the wall that separates the Muggle world from the Magical one, I take one last, fleeting glance. After all, I may never see this station again.

We mill amongst the churning crowd of people, shouldering our way through to get to the train. Mrs. Weasley bids farewell, waving and smiling. I try to memorize the faces, hers, Mr. Weasley's, the dog that is Sirius. Angel and Gazzy, who are staying behind at Grimmauld Place while we go to Hogwarts.

And then the trains whistle blows and I clamber on board.

Nudge runs off to find some friends (I have no doubt that she'll make some within minutes), and the rest of us find a compartment. Max, Fang, and Iggy seem to be forcing themselves to act normal, whereas Ron and Hermione don't seem to know what to say.

"Fang, Iggy, let's go find another compartment," Max says eventually. "Give these three some time to catch up, shall we?"

They walk off.

"So," I begin, turning to face Ron and Hermione, putting up my mask, "how was your summer?"

"It was...okay," says Hermione hesitantly. I sigh.

"Hermione, enough with worrying you'll say something wrong, okay? Just...act normal, okay? Pretend I was never..." I trail off.

_Tortured. Pretend I was never tortured. Pretend I'm not different. Pretend I'm not haunted. Pretend I'm not broken._

The unspoken words hang in the air.

I decided I wasn't going to let them.

"...tortured," I finish, looking them in the eye. They look surprised, probably that I willingly said it.

"I was tortured," I say, as if stating the sky is blue, or that the weather was nice. "It happened. It's over. I'm moving on."

_Lies._

"...Harry," Hermione begins, not seeming to know what to say.

"I. Am. Moving. On. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want it to be the elephant in the room, either. Stop acting so awkward around me. I am still Harry."

_More lies. I'm not still Harry. Not really. He's gone._

Hermione looks about ready to say something, I'm not sure what, when Ron cuts her off.

"So, Harry," he begins. "What do think are the odds of our team now that Oliver's gone?"

I smile. Good old Ron.

"Are you kidding me? The other teams don't stand a chance."

A knowing smirk.

_How can they, when the Gryffindor Seeker was made for this?_

_Hermione_

Harry's off. Different.

I can't say I expected him not to be.

But it's not quite PTSD, which I've read about it psychology books. It's more like something's weighing on his mind, always there, although he tries to push it away.

Even as he and Ron chatter away, I can tell he's trying to just act normal, that he's hiding behind a mask. It's not just what happened over the summer.

It can't be just that.

Something's yet to happen. He's afraid of something.

I don't know what.

I'm not sure if I want to know.

**A/N: So... 'Mione (why do people call her that...?) and Sirius are suspicious. No, Harry's not going to fly in a Quidditch match (well he will, but you know what I mean. If you don't...go back and actually**_**read**_**the fic.) He just means he's made to fly, that's all. So he's light, aerodynamic, etc.**

**So...the next chapter will include a snarky Malfoy, a suspicious Ron, and a Hogwarts student body wondering what on earth happened to Harry.**

**Bless your face, if you sneezed while reading this, bless you! (virtual cookies to anyone who can tell me where this is from!)**

_**-Winged Quill**_


	8. Back to Hogwarts

**A/N: Yo. Winged Quill here with another update. Not much to say, just that I GOT A SCHOLARSHIP *happy dance* So I will be going to a different school next year. Workload's supposed to be heavier so there may be fewer updates. Just warning y'all. Thanks KCWROX and UnknownUnseenUnheard, you're both totally awesome! (Beta note: I know I am.)**

**RECOMMENDATION: Oh, I totally recommend the goffickness of My Immortal. If you need an example of what NOT to do, that is. I am not responsible for any loss of brain cells that may occur whilst reading this.**

**DISCLAIMER: Own Harry Potter or Maximum Ride, I do not.**

**Beta-d as of 4/21/2012**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Eight: Back to Hogwarts<strong>_

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><p><em>Harry<em>

* * *

><p>I laugh as Ron loses yet another round of Exploding Snap to <em>Hermione <em>of all people, somehow managing to singe his eyebrows off in the process. Ron mock-glares at me.

"You find something funny?" he asks, pretending to be tough.

"Clearly," I say in my best Snape voice, causing to Hermione to look at me disapprovingly, making me crack up even more.

It's nice to laugh with your friends. Takes your mind off things. Like the fact that you're going to-

_Don't think about that. Geez, Harry, you're supposed to be trying to _enjoy _yourself._

My smile slips off my face slightly, and Hermione notices, pinning me with a calculating look. I smile reassuringly at her, then turn back to laugh at Ron's lack of eyebrows.

"Potter. Weasley. And the Mudblood."

Ron looks up, glaring at Malfoy, who's standing in the doorway of my compartment.

"Go to Hell, Malfoy," I say calmly, not even bothering to look at him. Really, he's not worth what little time I have left.

"What was that Potter?" he demands.

"You heard me. And I have no desire to repeat myself. Get out of our compartment, frankly, ferrets annoy me."

Ron and Hermione are staring at me. Eh, who cares?

"And if I don't?"

I look him directly in the eye with my best glare-of-death. With all the scars, it probably looks ten times creepier now. Y'know, based on the fact that Malfoy actually _yelped _and backed away.

"What happened to _you_, Potter?"

"As if I'd tell you. Get lost."

Malfoy, actually looking kinda frightened, slams the door of our compartment and runs off.

"Slytherins," I say, shaking my head. "No backbone whatsoever."

Ron and Hermione just stare.

"Close your mouths, you'll catch flies." Hermione shakes herself out of her stupor.

"Harry," she begins.

"Yes?" I ask, waiting for a reprimand. _You shouldn't threaten students; you shouldn't scare people, blah, blah, blah._

"That was awesome!"

"Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?" Ron asks, snapping out of his daze.

I laugh.

* * *

><p>"What the-" I say, stopping to stare at a creepy horse-bat thing. It actually looked like a mutant I had seen at The School. Except it had been dead. So...clearly it wasn't said mutant. Plus, it was pulling the Hogwarts carriages, and I don't think the whitecoats would have allowed that.<p>

"What's wrong, Harry?"

"What are those horse-bat-things?" Max asks, walking up next to me. So she can see them, and evidently Hermione can't. _Okay...this is getting weird._

"What are you talking about, Max?"

"I can see them too," I say, frowning slightly.

"Don't worry. So can I. You're just as sane as I am." I glance up into the carriage. A girl sits there, reading a magazine upside down.

_Somehow that doesn't reassure me all that much._

"Hello, I'm Luna Lovegood," she says smiling ethereally.

"Maximum Ride," Max says.

"Fang Walker."

"Iggy Windfree."

"Hermione Granger."

"Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter." She doesn't even blink, merely raising her eyebrows. And I think it's more because of the scars than the name. At least she's not reacting crazily, like I know most of the school will.

"Now that the introductions are out-of-the-way, is there enough space in the carriage for all of us?" asks Hermione.

"There should be, if we all squeeze in," Luna says.

I gulp. Tight spaces=unhappy mutant. Side effect of spending two months in a dog crate. And of _course _I get the tightest corner of the carriage.

_Do not panic, do not panic, do not panic._

"Harry?" I turn to see Hermione, looking at me in concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I manage to get out. "Just claustrophobic, that's all."

When we reach Hogwarts I scramble as fast as I can out of the carriage. Already I can hear whispers from the nearby students.

"Is that Harry Potter?"

"Blimey, what happened to him?"

"He's covered with scars!"

"Death Eaters, d'you reckon?"

"Probably. Merlin...what did they _do _to him?"

I keep walking, trying to ignore the stares and whispers. One good thing about all the scars, they kept people's eyes focused on my face. Making them far less likely to notice the faint-but-still-there impression my wings were making on the back of my robes.

Entering Hogwarts, the whispers increase as the candlelight makes the scars more noticeable. Some people are craning their necks to get a good look at me. I duck my head but I don't feel too embarrassed. People have been staring for years, it's not that big of a deal anymore, annoying as it is. My still-too-long hair covers my face, falling in my eyes and making it harder to see.

_Note to self: Cut hair so that you don't look like a girl. Or Snape, for that matter._

"Hey Harry, I never did ask you...what happened to your glasses?" asks Hermione.

I shrug. "They broke. Figured I might as well get contacts, they'll be less of a hindrance in a fight. Less likely to break or get stolen and all that."

Hermione looks at me, then nods, accepting my story.

* * *

><p><em>Hermione<em>

Contacts. That was Harry's story. And it's a lie. I know that it's possible to see the outline of contacts, close up. I was standing maybe a foot away from him, I would have been able to.

So he doesn't have glasses, he doesn't have contacts. What, did his vision just suddenly fix itself? Impossible. So what is it?

Harry walks off, towards Max, probably to explain the sorting to her.

I turn to Ron.

"Harry's lying to me."

He looks surprised. "About what?"

"Getting contacts. It's possible to see them."

"What are contacts, anyway?"

"A Muggle way to correct sight. Little spheres that you put in your eyes."

"Sounds painful," he says with a wince.

"Just a little uncomfortable, according to my mum."

"I doubt it... Anyway, he's lying? I thought he got some sort of potion to correct vision, it's possible, just pricey."

"I know, that's what I thought too. But why would he lie to us?"

"I really don't know."

The sorting hat sings, something about unity, and banding together in the face of adversary. I don't pay much attention (for once), still contemplating the mystery that is my best friend. When Dumbledore announces the new students that, due to "circumstances beyond their control" didn't know about magic up until now, I perk up, waiting to hear their sorting.

"They will be in fourth year, and will be given private lessons to catch them up to speed. I trust that you will all be very welcoming."

McGonagall steps up.

"They will now be sorted. Ride, Maximum!"

Max walks over to the stool. After about twenty seconds...

"RAVENCLAW!" She stands, before walking over to the cheering blue and bronze table.

"Walker, Fang!" I hear some muttering over his name. Fang seems indifferent, smirking slightly.

The hat screams out "SLYTHERIN!" the instant it touches his head. He doesn't seem too surprised.

"Windfree, Iggy."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

I cheer with the others then it's on to the regular sorting.

"Hey, welcome to Gryffindor."

"Thanks. Just wish Max and Fang were here too."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Fang is the Slytherin poster-boy, there's no way he would have gone anywhere else."

"You're saying his evil?" asks Ron, looking at Harry incredulously. "I thought you were friends."

"Not evil. Just...y'know...Slytherin. Cunning, and all that."

"Okay..."

"Harry?" asks Dean.

"Yeah?"

"What...er..._happened_ to you?"

"I was kidnapped," he says shortly, clearly not wanting to go into much detail.

"By Death Eaters?"

"I think they were Death Eaters. Certainly seemed like them. They never really talked to me, so I couldn't say for sure."

"Did-"

"Can we stop talking about this?" Harry asks, looking pained.

"Oh, er, sorry," says Dean, fidgeting awkwardly.

"Elloway, Nudge."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Again, not that much of a surprise," remarks Harry.

When the sorting is over, Dumbledore gets to his feet.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!" he begins. "Now I just have a few announcements before."

"Hem-hem!"

A new teacher, dressed all in pink. Harry frowns.

"What is it?" I ask.

"I don't know," he says. "Something about her...I just...she makes me uneasy."

I frown. Strange...

"Is it your scar?"

"No."

Ron seems to be tuning out her speech, but I'm paying attention, and it seems Harry is too, his frown growing and growing.

When she finally finishes and the feast begins, Harry turns to me.

"Something is wrong. Something about that teacher is definitely wrong."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: What about Umbridge is making Harry uneasy? Will Hermione notice more of Harry's abnormal behavior? What is gonna happen next? Tune in next time to find the answer to at least one of these questions!**

**Peace out and as always, REVIEW!**

**-Winged Quill**


	9. There's Something About That Teacher

**A/N: Sorry for the short chapter! I just wanted to get this done and posted before I go to bed so here you go!**

**Fic Recommendation: To lazy to remember one. I WILL be posting up a new fic soon called **_**Flesh of the Enemy, Forcibly Taken**_** which is, as the title suggests, a different way that ritual could have occured, and the consequences it would have on Harry and co. Once I get around to typing the first chapter. I am also considering starting a fic called **_**Kill You With A Kiss**_**. Go ahead and try to guess what that's about, I look forward to your speculations.**

**Once again, thanks to UnknownUnseenUnheard and KCWROX. I don't own. ENJOY!**

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><p><strong>Chapter Nine: There's something about that teacher...<strong>

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><p><em>Ron<em>

I awake to Harry screaming. Again. Really, really loudly. Another nightmare. I jump out of my bed and run over to Harry's, yanking back the curtains. The other boys in our dorm mumble sleepily, wondering what's going on. Another, blood-curdling shriek from Harry jolts them all awake.

"Harry! _Harry!"_ I yell, shaking his shoulder in a desprate attempt to wake him up. His screams go louder, his arms flailing out, one fist slamming into my cheek as his thrashes about. I yelp and jerk back in surprise, Harry certainly had a strong punch, even asleep.

_When had that happened?_

"HARRY!"

"AHHH!"

He jolts awake suddenly, sitting bolt upright. All is quiet for a moment.

"S-sorry," Harry, stammers, looking down in-what? Embarrassment? Fear? Nervousness?

"For what?" Seamus asks.

"Y'know...waking you up...I'll put some silencing charms on my curtains, that way you won't wake up next time..."

"You have these nightmares often?" Seamus asks, and I can tell he's already re-thinking what he said to Harry earlier, about Voldemort not being back, and Harry probably getting into an accident of some kind, then blaming the scars on the Death Eaters.

I had wanted to punch him. Harry had held me back, told me quite plainly that Seamus wasn't worth it, then calmly gone back to eating his dinner.

"Every night," Harry says. "I'll put up those silencing charms then?" he asks, probably in an attempt to break the awkward silence. He grins half-heartedly, then waves his wand at the curtains, sleepily mumbles an incantation, then sinks back into bed.

"Night. Sorry for waking you up," Harry mumbles, before rolling over onto his side.

Now, this may sound stalkerish, but after years of sleeping in the same dorm as someone, you tend to pick up on some of their habits. One random thing I'd noticed about Harry is that he always slept on his back. Why did he suddenly switch to sleeping on his side?

I brush it off as some injuries bothering him or something, before yanking his curtains shut again and returning to my bed.

* * *

><p><em>Harry<em>

Wonderful. I just had to forget the silencing charms and wake up everyone in the dorm. How embarrassing.

Though maybe Seamus believed me more now. Not that I cared...no of course not. I didn't care that he thought I was a liar, not at all. That was not disconcerting in any way, shape, or form.

What _was _disconcerting was the stupid nightmare I'd just had. Of floating ghost-like over a coffin as it slowly descended into the earth, my friends standing around the grave, crying. Sirius had looked so utterly lost and hopeless, broken. I had called out, trying to console them. But I suddenly found myself being pulled down, down, through the lid of the coffin into the small, dark space. I found myself alive again, living, breathing.

_But not for much longer unless I can get out of here..._

I called out, thinking that someone would hear me and pry open the lid, and then we'd all have a tearful reunion before running off happily into the sunset. But once again, no one could hear me. I screamed out desprately, and started clawing at the inside of the coffin, begging for someone to open it and let me out.

_"I'm alive, I'm alive! Let me out, I'm alive!"_

But all I could hear was dirt falling on the top of the coffin. And I had been alone in the darkness, trapped, suffocating, unable to move, utterly helpless as I was buried alive.

_Stupid subconcious,_ was my last thought, before I once again sank into darkness.

I dig into my bacon hungrily, before noticing Hermione staring at me. I swallow, before turning to her.

"What?"

"I've never even see Ron eat so much, and that's saying something!"

I swallow again, this time from nervousness. What am I supposed to say? _Well Hermione, I'm a genetically-engineered mutant freak who burns more calories than the average person._

Yeah, no.

I smile reassuringly at her.

"Just a side-affect of starving for two months, I guess. Have to eat every speck of food I can lay my hands on."

She laughs nervously.

"We have defense first," she says tentatively, remembering what I'd said yesterday about the new teacher. Professor Umbridge. What a ridiculous name.

"What makes you so paranoid about her anyway?" Ron asks, stuffing his mouth with food.

"Just a feeling," I say. _Call it Mutant's Intuition, if you will._ "And it's not paranoia if they're really out to get you."

I grab my bag, slinging it over my shoulder.

"Come on," I say. "I have a feeling we really don't want to be late to class."

* * *

><p><em>Hermione<em>

What Harry said about starvation making his appetite bigger? Theoretically, two months of starvation would have made him accoustamed to less food, making him eat less as a result.

Not more.

As a matter of fact, eating too much after a period of starvation can cause death. But here Harry was, packing away more food than ever before, no problem. What. The. Heck?

_Hiding something, hiding something, hiding something. _It was a constant chant in my ear as we walked to DADA. I had gotten the exact same feeling with Professor Lupin in third year, and even with Professor Quirrel. I just hadn't brought it up because it had seemed so..._unlikely _that Quirrel of all people was hiding a dark secret.

We took our seats, in the back, at Harry's direction.

I trusted his 'feeling.' It had saved our backsides on multiple occassions. True, it had gotten us in trouble about as many times, but...

Win some, lose some.

"Good morning class."

With mixed results.

"Now, now, that won't do. When I say 'good morning class' I want you to say 'good morning Professor Umbridge.' Good morning class."

"Good morning Professor Umbridge." We chant.

I can't help but think of those T.V. shows for 5-year-olds, where the people on screen 'talk to you' and expect you to repeat everything you say.

I had hated those shows.

She then proceeds to tell us that we basically won't be learning any defensive magic at all. I, as well as many others, start protesting, which leads to Umbridge reminding us to raise our hands.

Harry remains silent. Of all people, I would think he's be the one arguing agains her the loudest. Not staying quiet.

I nudge him with my elbow. Or more accuratley, try to. He flinches away so violently that I miss him and almost fall out of my seat.

"Sorry," he muters, catching me and setting me back on my chair. He's looking down, face flushed with embarrassment. I focus rigedly on the empty blackboard, trying not to think of what must've happened to him to cause him to react so violently to a simply nudge.

Umbridge seems to be staring at Harry, as though trying to goad him into fighting back. He meets her gaze with a blank expression, and for a moment, something seems to pass between them, a mutual hatred.

And from Umbridge there seemed to be a kind of gloating. As though she knew something that none of us did. As though she was pulling at the strings of fate, manipulating them to meet her own ends. Harry and I seem to be the only ones who notice, before she turns to reprimend Dean Thomas for not raising his hand.

When the bell rings, I can't get out of the classroom fast enough.

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><p><strong>AN: Eh, not my best work. I **_**have **_**just finished writing the screenplay for a short movie me and my friends are making, which will be out in July and on YouTube shortly after. I'll post up the link to the video when it's up.**

**Please review, tell me what you think **_**Blinded by a Kiss**_** will be about, and tell me what I can do to improve. **

_**-Winged Quill**_


	10. I See Dead People

**A/N: Hello my pretties! Welcome back for another installment! Nothing much to say, and I'm rather too lazy to write a chapter ad, so I don't own and hear you go! **

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Ten: I See Dead People<strong>_

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><p><em>Harry<em>

"Five points from Gryffindor, Potter."  
>I look up. It was the first potions class, barely five minutes in, and apparently I'd already done something to offend Snape. How, I didn't know. Breathing probably.<p>

I briefly find that ironic, and get a mental image of Snape dancing on my grave in a party hat, throwing confetti in the air. I meet Snape's glare with a empty look, when I get the feeling that something is hitting me in the gut. A flash of heat flies through my veins and the world flickers for a moment. When the feeling passes I notice everyone staring at me like I had two heads.

"What?"

"Headmaster's office Potter. Now."

Snape looks almost...shocked. Which is something I never thought I'd see.

"NOW!"

I grab my bag and follow Snape, noticing briefly that the class is whispering excitedly.  
>What exactly did I do?<p>

* * *

><p><em>Snape<em>

Potter was a medium. A genuine, honest-to-goodness medium. There hadn't been one for centuries, and they had been able to contact the dead at will after some training, which I was positive the Headmaster would insist Potter revive. Though the question remained, who would train him?

I glance at the confused boy, who still doesn't know exactly what he's done. I, however, am still shaken. And believe me, it takes a lot to shake Severus Snape.

Potter had walked into the classroom with his friends. Although they had laughed and talked, Potter had seemed distant. Which makes sense, after a summer of torture. Still, I had never given Potter's spawn special treatment before and I certainly wasn't intending on it now.

"Potter! Five points from Gryffindor." I was about to add 'for dressing like the slob all of you Gryffindors seem to be' (his tie was crooked and his hair was still the perpetual bird's-nest) when he had looked up at me with a blank expression. I had paused for an instant at the haunted look in the boy's eyes, a look no child should ever have.

And that's when it happened.

Potter had gasped suddenly as if punched in the stomach, before lookin directly at me. I had frowned, slightly concerned, though I never would have admitted it. The brat's eyes had been completely unfocused, staring off into the distance.

And then he had spoken, though not in his own voice. With her's. Lily's. I would like to imagine that I remained completely composed throughout what followed, though I imagine the color probably drained from my face. Because Lily's voice had been angry.

"SEVERUS! I AM DISGUSTED WITH YOU! TREATING MY SON LIKE DIRT JUST BECAUSE HIS FATHER TEASED YOU SOMETIMES! HONESTLY, I THOUGHT YOU WERE BETTER THAN THAT!"

He then turned his gaze on the shocked class. "AND YOU! TURNING ON HIM BECAUSE OF SOME STUPID PAPER! BELIEVING ALL THE LIES THE MINISTRY TOLD YOU! DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE'S BEEN THROUGH? VOLDEMORT IS BACK, I SAW HIM RETURN! I SEE EVERYTHING! AND BELIEVE ME, I SAW THE WHOLE CHAMBER OF SECRETS FIASCO! AND I'M WATCHING YOU NOW AND BELIEVE ME, I AM ONE. PISSED. GHOST."

Harry/Lily had then taken a deep breath. "Now," he/she said, turning his/her...it's...gaze on the shocked class.  
>"If we have a repeat of the Chamber of Secrets thing, I will be back with a series of painful hexes. Clear?"<p>

There was a general murmur of assent and it hadn't seemed satisfied.

"I SAID 'CLEAR!' ANSWER ME PROPERLY!"

"Yes Mrs. Potter," the class had murmured, the dunderheads seemed to have realized who they were talking to. Good, maybe the future wasn't entirely hopeless.

"Good," it had said. "Oh and Ron, Hermione, please be there for my son. He needs you, especially now. When he comes back to himself tell him I love him, and I'm proud of him."

"We will," said Granger. Weasly just nodded, still dumbstruck.

"You'd better. Oh, and Severus. Wash your hair, and stop calling me an 'it.' I know you are, really, you're just too predictable."

Harry/Lily shook his/her head and my last thought before Harry snapped out of his trance was that Lily really did know me too well.

Now I was leading Potter to the Headmaster's office, my thoughts in a million places at once. What had brought on this new ability of Potter's? No one really knew what caused mediums to be able to speak to the dead. Some suspected it was brought on by a traumatic event, but mediums were so few and far between that no one knew for sure.

_If it's true,_ I muse, _he certainly has gone through plenty of trauma.__ More than enough to trigger the medium powers._

The Order thinks that the boy has been hit with the Cruciatus Curse a few times, that he's strong, that he'll get over it soon. Black insists that it was something more. For once in my life, I agree with the mangy mutt. It's impossible to make someone look so broken under the Cruciatus. Why? Because they'd lose their mind in the process. And Potter, skittish and broken as he was, was still perfectly sane.

"Sugar Quill," I say in a clipped voice. Why Dumbledore insists on all guests humilating themselves with these ridiculous passwords, I'll never know. The gargoyle leaps aside and I start up the stairs, Potter following close behind. I rap my fist against the door impatiently.

"Come in."

I pull the door open and stalk into the room, Potter following me, eyes darting around the office. He looks ready to bolt at the first sign of danger, memorizing escape routes. His eyes linger on the windows, before snapping over to Dumbledore. Why? It's not like he could jump out of them without getting himself killed.

_Maybe he thinking being killed is better than going back to wherever he was over the summer. _

"Ah, Severus. What has Harry done to irritate you this time?" asks Dumbledore. His twinkling eyes then land on Harry. "Lemon drop?"

"No thank you sir," Harry says.

"Potter is a medium," I say simply. Dumbledore's eyes snap over to me, wide with shock.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. I witnessed it myself."

"Witnessed _what?"_

I glance over at Harry who is standing in front of us, looking confused and defiant, arms crossed over his chest.

"Sit down Potter. This will take awhile."

He sits, moving with a grace that I'm positive he's never had before. It's almost catlike, the way he moves. He eyes us warily.

"What happened?"

"Potter, you are a medium. Do you know what that is?" I ask, not expecting him to.

"No."

"A medium, dear boy," Dumbledore begins, lacing his fingers together, "is someone who can contact and channel souls that have passed on."

"So...you're saying that I..."

"For a few minutes you were in a trance, Potter. A spirit spoke through you."

"A spirit...spoke...through me?"

"Yes." I lean back, waiting to see how Potter will take the news.

"Which spirit? Someone you know?"

I swallow. I hadn't expected this question to come up, thinking Potter would immidiately start asking how all of his 'cool' powers worked and demanding attention for being special.

"It was your mother Potter."

Dumbledore looks just as surprised as Harry.

"My...mother? How did you know?"

"For one, she addressed you as her son. For another, you had her voice."

He blushes violently. "Her voice?"

"Yes."

"Great. More ammunition for people to humiliate me with."

"I can assure you Potter, they're more likely to badger you with requests for you to channel their dead relatives. Which you will be able to do on command, as well as just speak with spirits, given sufficient training."

"Which I'm sure that Professor Snape will be more than happy to give you."

"What?" we ask at the same time.

"Professor Dumbledore, I don't know the first thing about training a medium!" I exclaim.

"And Sn-Professor Snape and I don't exactly get along," Potter says, eyeing me warily.

"Medium powers are a mind art Severus, much like Occulmency," Dumbledore says, studying me. "You are one of the finest Occulmens this school has produced."

I vaguely notice Potter tense up, before relaxing, as if mentally chastisting himself. Something Dumbledore said. A trigger word maybe?

_You. One. Finest. Occulmens. School. Produced._

None of the words seem particaulary violent or threatening. Then again, who knows what was done to Potter? I am still convinced it was more than a kidnapping by Death Eaters, and as the pieces add up, I am growing more and more convinced that it was something far more sinister.

"Fine," I say with an exasperated sigh. "I'll try. Potter, right now, let's see if you can show Professor Dumbledore what you can do. Reach out your mind. Concentrate on the other side, on the Otherside, Heaven, whatever you'd like to call the afterlife."

Potter closes his eyes, and seems to be concentrating hard. His eyes suddenly flash open, glassy and unfocused.

"Albus?" he asks, speaking in a young girl's voice. Dumbledore blanches, looking at Harry in complete and utter shock.

"Ariana?" he gasps.

"Wow, you're old," Spirit (as I have decided on calling Harry when he goes into medium-mode) says with a laugh. "I've been watching you grow up, but this is the first time I've seen you up close. Thank Harry for me, will you? I've been wanting to talk to you for so long. I have to tell you something. Something important."

"What is it, Ariana?" Albus asks.

"It wasn't you, Albus. You don't need to feel guilty. You shouldn't. It was Gellert."

"It...wasn't me?"

"No. It wasn't." Spirit's gently strokes Dumbledore's cheek, which looks downright odd, before speaking again.

"I have to go. I don't want to hurt Harry. When he learns to call specific spirits at will, ask Abe to come, will you? I want to talk to him. And you too. There's so much I want to tell you both."

"Yes, I will do that."

"Bye Albus. And please, don't treat Harry like a weapon. Lily told me to tell you that. Well, she told me to yell at you actually, but I don't really want to have hard feelings between us. So, until later, adios!"

Harry's eyes re-focus, and he comes out of his trance.

"I think I did it."

"You did, my boy. And I can't thank you enough."

"Why?"

"You managed to summon my sister. She told me something very...important that has been weighing on my mind for years."

"What is it? Or is it too personal?"

"Alas, I must keep this a secret from you, dear boy."

"That's okay. There are some secrets best left alone."

"Philisophical musings aside, Potter," I say, though briefly wondering what exactly he meant by that, "we have to figure out what time lessons will be held. I believe Tuesday, Thrursday, and Saturday evenings would work best."

"That's fine, sir," Potter says. "May I go now? I don't want to be late to Transfiguration."

"Go ahead, Potter."

He walks out, and I turn to Dumbledore with a sigh.

"Potter has been acting...off."

"What do you expect Severus," Dumbledore asks wearily. "He's been through horrors I don't even want to think about. I can't help but feel like I've failed him. He was supposed to be...well, not safe I suppose, but happy in our world. Supposed to see the fun and excitement, and danger too, but come out unscathed, and stronger because of it. Not be tortured by those monsters."

"Professor," I begin.

"Call me Albus, I've told you that before."

"Albus," I correct myself, grinding my teeth, "I really don't think it's that simple. He's gone through more horror than a few Cruciatus curses."

"Who could have done this to him, if not Death Eaters."

"I don't know. According to him, he's not even sure if they _were_ Death Eaters. And he never said what exactly they did to him. I don't know if he's lying per se...just letting us believe something that isn't the truth. Very Slytherin."

"He was almost in Slytherin, do you know?"

"Really?" I ask, shocked. Potter's spawn was almost in _my_ house? Potter Senior would be rolling in his grave.

"Really. And maybe they weren't Death Eaters. Who else could have done this to him?" He doesn't ask this in exasperation, like there's no other option, rather in incredularity and anger. He wants to know who did this to his Golden Boy so he and the rest of The Order can tear them apart. I myself would join in.

Nobody hurts Lily's son.

Nobody.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Cookies to whoever can tell me what the chapter title's from! Fairly obvious, but...eh...what are you gonna do?**


	11. The Dark Side to Being a Medium

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait, finals. But summer is here, so updates should come quicker than ever before! And here's a nice, long, plot-laden chapter with a cliffy at the end to make up for the wait! Oh, and by the way, last chapter title was from 'The Sixth Sense.' Cookies to HiddenDemigod for getting it right first!**

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><p><strong><em>Chapter Eleven: The Dark Side to Being a Medium<em>**

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><p><em>Harry<em>

_I'm drifting here, alone. It's dark, it's cold. I can't see my own hand in front of my face. Whispers are echoing in my ears, right next to me, yet when I put out my hand, I feel nothing. Where am I? What is this? A dream? Death? Unconciousness?_

_"Hello? Is anybody there?" _

_"Why hello there. You know, you killed our master. Which brought us down. Oh well." Fingers close around my throat, and I try to struggle but can't throw off whoevers grabbing me. Whoever it is has a gruff, masculine voice, and is very, very strong._

_"I suppose I'll just kill you. That should be a fair trade, wouldn't you say." _

_Air...air...need...air..._

_The fingers let go and I gasp in the sweet, sweet oxygen frantically, filling my lungs._

_"But not just yet. No, no, what use would it be to kill you in a dream?"_

_A faint speck of light appears, and I can hear someone calling my name. I'm waking up. But just as I vanish, I hear the voice again, just a faint whisper._

_"See you around, medium." _

"Harry?" I groan and sit up, glancing around. I'm sprawled on the couch in the common room, must have fallen asleep doing homework last night. First week back and they're already swarming us with work, honestly.

"Max?" I ask, blinking sleep out of my eyes. "What time is it?"

"Midnight," she answers casually, as if it's perfectly normal to go and wake someone up at midnight. I glare at her, trying to put the strange, unsettling dream out of my head.

"And why would you wake me up now?"

"I thought now would be a good time to go for a fly, when no one can see us."

"True, true," I say, reaching over and rooting around in my schoolbag. "Let me just...ah, got it!" I pull out a filmy, floaty cloak and a tattered sheet of parchment. I quickly activate the map and throw the cloak over my and Max's shoulders.

"Lead on," I say with a grin. She sighs, and pulls us out of the portrait hole. The Fat Lady snores on as we sneak by, creeping through the hallways, heading towards the Astronomy Tower. After a few minutes of silence, we reach the stairway and begin to climb. Max deems it safe enough to talk. And it's then when I find out the _real_ reason she woke me up at midnight.

"So, have you thought about telling your friends? As I told you before, it's up to you when you want to."

"No," I say decisively. "I can't."

"Why?" she asks, stopping and crossing her arms over her chest. "You have to face them sooner or later, Harry. You can't hide forever."

"I don't need to last forever," I snap, pulling the cloak off and storming up the steps. "I just need to keep our secret until June. Surely you haven't forgotten that."

"Harry...please...you have to..."

"No, Max. I couldn't bare to see their pitying looks."

"But maybe they could find a way-"

"-to what? Save my life? Forget it. It's never going to happen." I take a shaky breath and grab my left arm, turning my face away to hide the fact that I'm almost in tears. "Can you please not talk about it?"

"Yeah...sorry." She pulls the cloak off too, before pushing past me and heading up the stairs. I sigh and rest my head against the stone, before forcing a smile onto my face and heading after her. I need to stay strong. For Max. The Flock. And my friends.

_Because they know I was captured..._

_They know I was tortured..._

_But they don't know I'm dying. _

_And I intend to keep it that way._

I step out onto the hard stone of the Astronomy Tower and walk over to the narrow ledge that seperates the tower from the long, long fall.

"Hey," I hear, and I turn to see Fang grinning at me. Apparently Max woke the entire Flock for this little escapade. "I've never sparred with you before. Wanna try? First one to fall loses," he says, gesturing to the railing. I smile.

"Sure, why not?"

And we begin the fight. Fang is at a totally different level than I am, but I manage to get in a few punches before he knocks me off the tower. I unfurl my wings and swoop upwards, landing semi-awkwardly on the ledge again.

"Nice one," I say, extending my hand to shake his. He takes it. I tighten my grip and whirl around, sending him flying.

"Shouldn't let your guard down," I laugh, still carefully keeping my mask up, before jumping off the roof and soaring into the night, not fancying letting Fang catch me.

_At least...I have this,_ I think, relishing the freedom and the feeling of the wind in my hair and feathers. I can fly, and it's pretty incredible. But still, if I could, I'd give it all up in a heartbeat just to live to my sixteenth birthday. Life is too short. It really is. I just didn't realize it until now. I try to lose the depressing thoughts, and allow myself to become one with the wind, swooping and dipping, thoughtless, just pure pleasure.

But I've never been much good at meditating. Or Zen-type stuff in general, really.

Still, I'm alive today. And that's what counts, right?

_Right?_

* * *

><p><em>2 weeks later<em>

"So, I've been scouring the library for books on how to train Medium powers." I look up from my homework. It's Hermione of course, and she doesn't look all that happy. Ever since I've become a Medium, she's been dead-set on helping me.

"And?" I ask, already knowing the answer. It will be just the same as the last ten times she went to the library.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I just don't get it."

"Well he is the first one in like, five-hundred years," remarks Ron, scrawling down another false death-sentence. I've always hated Divination, but now it's just plain torture.

"True, it's logical there wouldn't be much information," said Hermione, sitting down and throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. I smirk slightly. I liked it when she did that. It was almost...cute?

_Woah, woah, woah. June, remember? No crushes, no romance. Do you want her heart broken?_

Stupid subconcious.

"But really, nothing?" she continues.

"Well, if you can't find it with your amazing research skills, than I highly doubt there's any info," I say, snapping my book shut. I stretch, rolling my shoulders back, and reach out for my potions kit. I need the knife inside, we're supposed to draw up diagrams of what various ingredients look like diced, sliced, minced, etc.

I pick it up, along with some lavendar roots, and begin chopping. There's something niggling at the back of my head, but I push it out. Probably just my subconcious. Again.

It came again. And it felt almost...sinister.

_What the hell?_ I manage to think, before the world goes black and an overwhelming pain shoots through my stomach.

* * *

><p><em>Hermione<em>

It all seems to happen in slow-motion, yet so fast I can barely comprehend it. Harry's slicing the lavendar, and I'm about to comment on his remark about my research skills (they really aren't _that_ amazing) when his face goes blank and he snaps up, dropping the lavendar.

It's the same as when he channeled his mother in Potions. Yet this seems different. Wrong.

"Ah yes, finally," he says, in a voice that's not his own. "I've been waiting for an oppurtunity like this for weeks now."

"O-oppurtunity? Who are you?" I stutter, staring at Harry. He has a slightly crazed look in his eyes, and is waving the extremely sharp knife around as he's talking.

"An oppurtunity to take over the brat who killed my master and sent me to Azkaban. See, you all are so excited about his Medium abilities. But what you all forget," he raises the knife into the air, "is that not all ghosts like the brat."

I know what's going to happen before it does, but I'm powerless to stop it. I lunge forward, frantically trying to catch Harry's hands, to stop him. But I can't. I can't stop the knife from plunging into his stomach, can't stop him from twisting the blade, can't stop the horrible gush of blood spilling from his stomach and from his mouth as he coughs.

He laughs insanely before slumping over, still clutching the blade. Screams are erupting all around the common room and Ron stands in horror, running over to Harry. He looks up, his eyes back to normal. He stares at the knife in his stomach for a split second, as if surprised, before screaming in agony and lurching forward, throwing up a fountain of blood. His breathing becomes labored and I swear I can hear his heartbeat growing fainter.

"No!" I yell, grabbing his shoulders. "Harry, look at me, look at me! It's okay, keep breathing, we'll get you help!" I whirl around. "SOMEONE GET HELP!" I wait until a terrified first-year runs off, before spinning back around to face my dying best friend, who's now choking on his own blood and thrashing around, unable to comprehend what happened or why he's in pain. My hands hover over the knife uncertainly. _Do I take it out? Leave it in? What do I do? __No one's ever told me what to _do_ in this kind of situation!_

I choke back a frantic sob and clutch his shoulders again, deciding to leave the knife in. It must have been stopping some of the bleeding right? Stopping up the gaping hole in his stomach? Ron drops beside me, looking at Harry with the same desperation I feel reflected in his blue eyes.

"Harry, come on!" he yells. "You're strong, you can get through this! It's not your time to go yet, you hear me! It's not your time to die! Please keep breathing! Please! We need you!"

His breaths are growing weaker and weaker, and there's more blood than I thought was ever possible. His eyes are slipping closed, and I know that he has only minutes left, if that. He's going to die here, in my arms, and there's nothing I can do about it, absolutely nothing.

"Maybe this is for the best."

It's Max's voice, next to me, in a whisper. She had come over to sit beside Harry, and had said those six words in a whisper, to herself, clearly not meaning for me to hear them.

But I did. And they made me want to slap her. No, kill her. How was this for the _best?_ How was my best friend dying on the carpet for the _best?_

I would have killed her in that moment. I really would've.

But then Harry's breathing fades away.

His heart stutters to a stop.

And all is still.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: *insert dramatic music here* Please don't kill me! Please! *Goes and hides in Crona's emo corner* I HAD TO! OKAY! I HAD TO!**

**Speaking of Crona, any Soul Eater fans out there? I'm planning a crossover...Harry Potter/Soul Eater**

_**-Winged Quill**_


	12. Dead or Just Nearly Dead?

**A/N: Yes, I do realize that Forever Silenced was next in line to be updated. But come on, I couldn't just leave a cliffhanger like that! I'm not that cruel (plus I really wanted to write this chapter.) Anyways...I don't own and here you go...**

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><p><strong><em>Chapter Twelve: Dead or Just Nearly Dead?<em>**

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><p><em>Hermione<em>

"No," I whisper brokenly, staring at the corpse in my arms. "This can't be happening, NO!" I let out a choked sob and close my eyes, letting tears flow down my face. "No..."

I feel a hand rest on my shoulder and open my eyes, turning to look at Ron. He's staring at Harry, numb. He hasn't said anything, nothing at all. He's as lost in his grief as I am, and yet he tries to comfort me. But the hand on the shoulder doesn't help. The comforting words that people will no doubt pile upon me and Ron won't help. Nothing can change the fact that my best friend is lying on the ground in front of me, in a pool of his own blood, an expression of terror etched into his face.

I hear the portrait hole open, shattering the silence that has descended upon the common room. The little first year that ran off to get help is dragging Professor McGonagall by the hand, clearly unable to articulate what had happened.

"What is the meaning of..." she trails off upon seeing Harry's body, then runs forward in horror. "Someone run and fetch Madame Pomfrey!"

"It's too late," Max whispers, stepping forward and kneeling down beside Harry. I breifly wonder how a Ravenclaw got into our tower, but it doesn't really matter at the moment. She reaches out and closes Harry's eyes. The look on her face is a weary one, the look of a child who has seen far too much death.

Professor McGonagall, on the other hand, is trying to remain calm and collected, but failing miserably. The stern head of Gryffindor has likely never had to deal with something like this, one of her lions murdered in their own common room.

But then again, neither have any of us.

"Nudge? Can you go get a sheet, please?" Nudge nods at Max and runs off. I take a deep breath and reach foward, curling my hand around the hilt of the knife that snuffed out Harry's life. I pull it out. Much as doing such a thing hurts-it hurts to even look at him-I have to. I can't just leave him there, cold and lifeless. Maybe if I take the knife out he'll open his eyes, breathe. Live.

No such luck.

Nudge returns, handing the sheet to Max. Max turns to the frozen head of Gryffindor. "We should probably get him out of here."

She snaps out of her daze. "Yes...yes of course." Max drapes the sheet over Harry before lifting him like he weighs nothing, wrapping the sheet underneath him as she does. It makes me wonder; how many times has she done this? How many times has she seen someone die?

"Ron, Hermione, you two come along," Professor McGonagall says, using our first names for the first time ever. We follow, tears still streaming down my face, Ron almost robotic in his movements. How could this happen? How could Harry die, just like that?

In all these years, all of these near-death experiences, I guess I'd come to think of him as invincible. Untouchable. Unkillable. But we're all human. We're all flesh and blood. Even Harry. Still, it was hard to believe that it could happen so _quickly._ One minute talking and laughing, and the next...cold, hard reality.

Our silent procession walks through Hogwarts. The halls are empty, everyone in their common rooms, so no-one is here to witness this tragedy.

We enter the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey looks up from her paperwork. She sees the tears, the sheet, the wide-eyed, shocked Ron, and puts two and two together. Unlike Professor McGonagall, she doesn't go into shock, keeping a tight hold on her professionalism at all times. I wonder if she's doing it for us, or for herself. She steps out from behind the desk and walks over to us.

"Who?" she asks, though I can tell by the look in her eyes that she already knows.

"H-H-Harry," I manage to get out between sobs. Max walks over and places him on the bed. Madame Pomfrey closes her eyes and nods slightly, her suspicions confirmed. I see a brief flash of pain cross her face as Max unwraps the sheet, revealing the gaping, bloody wound.

"What happened?" she asks grimly, looking at the cut. "It looks like a stab wound."

"It is. A ghost took him over," answers Max, the one in our group who's the calmest, save Madame Pomfrey. "Made him stab himself. Then left before he..." she trails off. There's no need to say any more.

"Minerva, inform the headmaster," Madame Pomfrey says, wiping the blood away from Harry's lips with a wet cloth. "Hermione, Ron, Max, take this, it's a dreamless sleep potion. We'll talk more in the morning." Ron and I nod weakly and take the potion, Max hesitates before doing so.

As we drift off to sleep, my last thought is that Harry won't be there when I wake up. And then there's darkness.

* * *

><p><em>Harry<em>

Warmth is filling every inch of me, and I can see light through my closed eyelids. I've never been so comfortable, so at peace before. It literally feels like I'm _one_ with the light surrounding me, if that makes any sense. I can feel a hand carding through my hair, and a pair of voices talking softly.

"Harry. Harry, it's time to wake up." I groan as I open my eyes, and find myself looking at the two people I've seen only in photographs and, once, a tall, ornate mirror...

My parents. My mum is gently running her fingers through my hair, untangling it. My dad is sitting next to us, smiling proudly.

"Mum? Dad?"

"Yes, Harry. It's us," mum says, smiling and helping me sit up. I'm just so _tired._

And then I remember. A flash of silver, a burst of pain, looking down in shock to see my own hands driving a knife into my stomach, screaming in agony, twisting and thrashing, wondering how, how had this happened? And then darkness, obliviation. Death.

I was dead. I was fifteen and I was dead. Sure, I had expected it. But I thought I had until June, I thought that I'd be able to cherish those last months with my , it was warm and safe here, and I had my parents. But it just wasn't the same as being alive. To my utter humiliation, tears start rolling down my cheeks, and no matter what I do, they just keep coming.

"Shh, shh, it's okay." Mum says, wiping away my tears. "It's okay, it's okay." I just shake my head and keep sobbing. I was dead. Dead! This wasn't okay, it wasn't, it wasn't, it wasn't, it wasn't...

"Lily, he's hyperventilating."

"I can see that. Harry, calm down, calm down."

I was dead, dead, dead, dead...

"HARRY JAMES POTTER!"

"AHH!"

I jump backwards, Mum certainly can yell when she wants to. She took a deep breath.

"Sorry, but the comforting wasn't working, and I don't want you crying when you really have no reason to."

"No reason-"

"-to cry, yes. Now I want you to listen to me very, very closely, alright?" she asks, walking over to me and taking my wrists.

"Okay?"

"You. Are. Not. Dead."

But I remembered it so clearly, the knife, the pain, the horrible feeling of hopelessness as I watched my blood form in a pool around me. So I asked the one, important, crucial question.

"What?"

"Lily, you probably should have explained it a bit more thoroughly," Dad says in amusment.

"Well how _else_ was I supposed to get him to stop crying!"

"CAN SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME WHAT'S GOING ON?"

"Okay, okay, no need to shout."

I just gave Dad a blank stare. One that clearly said 'you're kidding me, right?'

"Alright, maybe you deserve to shout a bit. But we were getting to the explanation. Patience is a virtue."

I groan.

"So," says Mum, giving Dad a look, "you were possessed by an evil spirit. I'm sure you know that."

"That's what I thought had happened, yes."

"We would have been there the instant the spirit entered you, fighting him out of your body. Unfortunately, at the level you're at now, in terms of your powers-"

"-which are awesome when they're not being used in an attempt to kill you by the way-" Dad cuts in.

"-your body can only host one spirit at a time without you spontaneously combusting," Mum continues as if he hasn't spoken. "The spirit that possessed you, however, wanted you to see what had happened before you died. So he left your body. I was then able to enter you and grab your soul and life last second."

"My life?"

"Look at yourself and then look at us." I look down at my hands. They're glowing very brightly, giving me the appearence that I've been lit on fire. My parents on the other hand, look transparent and ghost-like.

"Souls have a physical shape, life is just pure light. What you are currently is a combination of the two. When someone dies, their life is destroyed and their soul goes to the afterlife, or remains behind as a ghost. Since you still have your life, you can return to your body. Madame Pomfrey bandaged the cut, to make you look like you're sleeping or something. She's also currently in the same room as your body, so you should heal easily enough."

"But what if it happens again?" I ask fearfully. I have no intention of dying before June.

"Remember how we told you that you can only host one spirit at a time?" asks Dad. I nod. "Well, your mind puts up barriers to stop more than that from entering. A natural defense mechanism, if you will. So we'll put a spirit in your head at all times and keep all the evil spirits out!" I blink. Once. Twice.

Well, this is going to be 'fun.'

"Well, not at all times. We'll leave when you're training. Much as I don't like the greasy git-"

"James," Mum warns.

"Sorry, _Professor Snape,_ I feel that I can trust him not to let any spirits hurt you. And he _should_ be smart enough to put away all sharp objects, ropes, and lethal potions. So all he has to do is stop you from smashing your head against the wall and dying from brain trauma. Which should be easy enough, I mean, it's not like it could happen instantly-"

"James, you're babbling again."

"Sorry Lily. Anyway, your mum, myself, and some old friends and relatives will be taking turns watching over you."

"How will being in a trance 24/7 help me exactly?"

"Oh, we won't put you in a trance. We'll just be in your head, kinda like your...whatchamacallit...subconcious."

_Because that's _so_ much better. Well, if it's that or die..._

"And it's only until you master your powers enough to keep the evil ones out. And, knowing your determination, it shouldn't take that long."

"Okay, I guess I can live with that. Just no waking me up in the middle of the night."

Dad snaps his fingers in mock dissapointment and Mum punches him. I laugh. Maybe this won't be so bad after all.

"Ready to return to the land of the living?" Dad asks, holding out his hand.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I reply, taking it.

We're suddenly flying through a dark tunnel and I yelp as I crash through a barrier painfully. Every inch of me starts tingling, like when your foot falls asleep when you keep it in one posistion for too long.

I snap open my eyes, gasping in air, feeling like I did after almost drowning in the second task. Or at The School, whichever you prefer.

It's then when I notice three things.

1) Madame Pomfrey is standing next to me, holding a bloodstained shirt.

2) Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Dumbledore are all with her.

3) They're staring at my wings.

_Uh-oh._

Madame Pomfrey blinks once, twice. She then sprints over to the potions cabinet, grabs several vials, runs back over to me, and practically shoves the foul tasting liquids down my throat before I can even say 'hello.' The pain in my stomach and overall dizzyness drops signifigantly. She then places the vials on my bedside, puts her hands on her hips and speaks.

"I am sure, Mr. Potter, that we would all like to know; how are you alive and why, exactly, do you have _wings?"_

_Not good._

"Oh, and why do you have that weird tattoo on your arm?"

_Really, really not good._

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><p><strong>AN: What, you actually thought I'd let Harry die _now?_ That would end the fic way to quickly! Anyway, see you next time!**

_**-Winged Quill!**_


	13. Memories

**A/N: Well, here it is, (un)lucky chapter thirteen! I don't own Maximum Ride, Harry Potter, or both. And you and I both know that that's probably a good thing.**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Thirteen: Memories<strong>_

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><p><em>Harry<em>

"Well...um...you see..." I stammer, scratching the back of my neck. I'm panicking slightly, okay, a lot. How am I supposed to explain the horrors I went through to them? What's more, how am I to explain my death sentence?

"I think, Mr. Potter, that this discussion would best be continued in a more private location," says McGonagall. "Poppy, may we use your office?"

"Certainly."

I climb out of the hospital bed, swallow, gather my courage, and walk into the office. _Calm down,_ says a voice, and I startle a bit, before realizing that it must be Dad. _They aren't going to kill you, they aren't going to hurt you in any way. You have nothing to fear._

_But what will they think of me?_

_They will think no less of you, I promise. _

_I'm more worried that they will pity me._

_Of course they will. But honestly Harry, you deserve some pity after what you've been through, and what you _will_ go through._

By this point, I've taken a seat in the office, and the mental conversation ends. I suppose Dad's right about me deserving pity, not many fifteen-year-olds have had their DNA altered after all, but I still want none. I don't want to see the looks that Dumbledore, McGonagall and... oh God, Sirius...will give me.

"So Mr. Potter?" asks Snape. "Explain."

"I-I don't-I don't want to talk about it."

"Well I don't either, Potter, but some things must be done. And we have a right to know why you're back from the dead, and why you have wings growing out of your back!"

I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself. Just being asked about it brings back memories, cold, dark, water, electricity, pain, fear, screams of agony...

I won't talk about it. I _can't_ talk about it. Because I don't want to remember. Ever.

* * *

><p><em>Severus<em>

"Albus, this isn't going to help, I say we use Legilimency-"

"You know as well as I that performing Legilimency would force him to re-live whatever trauma he went through. It would make him distrust us all the more."

I roll my eyes. So Potter's getting coddling and comfort because he's too fragile to face the past. He needs to face it now, or he'll never get over whatever it is that's made him this way.

"I can be careful. It's rather simple for me to find memories without alerting the person, you know that."

"But I don't want to risk you slipping."

"If he starts screaming, snap me out of it. Easy enough."

Albus sighs in resignation. I can see that he knows it's the only solution, we'd never be able to get the boy to talk about his memories.

"Very well Severus."

"Albus I don't think-"

"Minerva, it's the only way we can know what's wrong with him."

The lioness shakes her head, but not in protest, instead slowly, sadly. She knows that this boy, this _child_ has gone through unspeakable horrors, probably beyond our comprehension. She doesn't want to believe it, but she's being forced to.

"Potter? Look at me."

He glances up at me, his green eyes wide with fear. And I slip into his mind.

_The boy was young, staring out the window, longing to join the children playing on the street._

_He was being chased around school by several overly-large Muggle boys._

_Sitting on the school chimney, with no idea how he got there._

_Chased out of the house by an ugly dog._

These weren't it, these were all wrong. I was focusing on misery, sadness, confusion. But they were too broad, too many memories fit those categories. Far too many for a child. It seemed that he had buried the true trauma deep within his head, unconsciously directing searchers to the less painful pain. I shake my head and dive deeper,

_Potter was lying on a forest floor, staring numbly into space, tears streaming down his face, broken down and weak._ This memory is connected to several others, all of which I am sure will lead me to the answer I'm seeking. I grab a random thread and allow myself to be pulled along.

_Sprinting through a green, leafy maze. The third task. Turn a corner. Something was wrong. The hedges were dissolving, replaced by pristine white walls. Bruises and gashes were appearing on the boy, and his champion's robes were replaced by a tattered grey uniform. He was barefoot, and sprinting like his life depended on it. His eyes, determined and nervous in the third task, seemed to acquire an aura of desperation, and absolute terror. What in Merlin's name was going on?_

_He paused, very slightly, at an intersection. Almost instantly a band around his ankle buzzed, sending a jolt of electricity through the boy's body. He screamed and collapsed to the floor of the maze. Wires, which I could now see built into the floor, heated up, burning his bare flesh. Silently crying, the boy got to his feet and was off again, sprinting for all he was worth._

My eyes widen in horror, and I grab another thread of memory, allowing myself to escape the horror before me, though I know it will be replaced with another. So was this his secret? Was he some kind of lab rat, an experiment? Is that why the boy has wings?

_Now he was lying on the floor of a cage, staring out through the bars like a broken animal. Footsteps approach and he curls into himself, bringing his knees up to his chest in the back-most corner of the cage, eyes full of fear. Clicking shoes echo through the hallway, and I can also hear what sounds like wheels, maybe some sort of cart. A man in a white coat, who definitely looks like some sort of Muggle scientist, starts giving out...food?-ugh-and water, to the inhabitants of the cages. I recognize Max Martinez, along with Angel Ride, Fang Walker, and Nudge Elloway. They greedily take the food, and I wonder how long it's been since they've eaten. The scientist stops at Potter's cage, but only gives him water, before moving on._

_"Still no food?" asks Martinez._

_"None," replies Potter, guzzling down the water._

_"How long has it been?" questions Walker, looking uncharacteristically sympathetic for Potter._

_"A week and a half? Two weeks?" says Potter wearily, curling up, obviously trying to sleep. "I dunno, I've lost count."_

_The footsteps and wheels are approaching again, only this time, I hear laughter. Potter shrinks back again, absolute terror now filling his features. The wheels stop in front of his cage, and a hideous wolf-man-mutant-thing bends down, grinning at Potter evilly._

_"Hungry, Freak?"_

_The boy doesn't say anything, only glares. Stubborn Gryffindor._

_"Well, it's time for dinner!" says the...thing...mock-cheerily, bending down and unlatching the boy's cage, roughly pulling him out by the arm._

_He throws Potter on the cart, chaining him down with heavy iron shackles. A scientist steps forward, holding what looks like some sort of clamp. The boy struggles wildly against his chains, but they, of course, do not give. The scientist forces the clamp in his mouth, the boy attempting to spit it out. He slaps him across the face, before grabbing a tube and shoving it through the clamp. He coughs, choking on the tube as it's forced down his throat. The other children watch the scene in horror. I want nothing more than to let them go, unchain Potter, and hex the things silly. But I can only watch._

_"Let him go!" screams Martinez. The scientist ignores her, but the wolf-man turns to her, smiling._

_"This is the only way he's getting food this week! So it's this or starvation!" he says, then grins even larger. "And we think he's looking a bit peaky...so we think he should eat three square meals a day! Isn't that wonderful!"_

_The boys eyes widen in horror as he writhes against his bonds, obviously in horrible pain. Bile rises in my throat, I'm sick that anyone would do this to a child, and _enjoy_ it. It was just..._

_As the wolf-man laughs, and some sort of liquid dribbles down the tube into Potter's stomach, his eyes narrow in anger. Angrier and angrier until, with a loud shattering sound, the machine breaks. The scientist lets out a horrified gasp, then immediately turns to Potter, yanking the tube out of his throat. He stares at Potter in fascination. _

_"How remarkable. I shall have to inform my supervisors about this...they'll want to know what just happened...more tests, experiments, maybe the force-feeding brought it on..." He mumbles to himself and Potter begins to shake with fear, it's clear that this scientist is planning new and more horrible torment._

_Potter's thrown back in his cage and the last thing I see before the memory dissolves is him vomiting up blood..._

I'm shaking violently but I manage to grab a new memory. I decide to take the approach of grabbing the strands in quick succession, so I can get the full picture, and hopefully the scenes wouldn't horrify me if they only a few seconds were shown.

It's worse in a way, because I can see everything that's been done to him, even if it's only a few seconds of each.

_Hanging from his wrists twenty feet in the air, thrashing in terror as the room slowly filled with water. Sprinting on a treadmill for hours, shocked if he so much as tried to slow down. Injected with a plague virus, left to suffer for hours before the cure was administered. Burned with a branding iron, then covered with molten metal when he refused to scream. Tied to a table, water dripping onto his forehead at random intervals, slowly driving him mad. Thrown in a room with venomous snakes, him frantically trying to talk them into letting him live. His arm snapped to test a new medicine to fix broken bones. When it worked, after hours of agony, they tried it on his legs, arms, ribs, even spine. Horror after horror flashes before my eyes, and I wonder in shock how he managed to stay sane._

_Martinez and Walker carry him from the laboratory, flying away free. He's weak with mental torture and screaming with agony as poison courses through his veins. Even his escape from the hellhole couldn't be painless._

_And now..._

_Expiration dates? What are expiration dates?" he asks, confused._

_"All of us, we have these...dates programed into us."_

_"What happens on the date?" he asks, fear flitting into his eyes, as he, and I, start to draw an awful conclusion. Oh Merlin, Potter...was he dying? Even as I watched this, was his time running out?_

_"I think you already know the answer to that."_

_He sinks to the ground in horror, and I feel numb as Potter's last, worst secret is revealed._

_"NO! Please Max, please tell me I'm not dying! Please..."_

_"I-I'm sorry."_

_"...no." I feel about ready to throw up at the look on his face, an unparalleled, raw terror that no child should ever feel._

_"Why? Why, _why, WHY?"

_"Harry..."_

_"Please, Max. Please...just...go..."_

_The memory fades..._

...I am standing in the hospital wing. Here in reality, only minutes, maybe even seconds, have passed. I stumble away from Potter in shock. He looks at me in confusion.

"Merlin, Potter," I gasp. "How are you still _sane?"_

"H-how did you-"

"It's called Legilimecy, Harry," says Albus. "It allows the user to see a persons thoughts, feelings...and memories."

"So you saw-" His eyes grow wide with dread and he backs away from me. "The summer? All of it?"

I nod. "Yes."

"Even-" He gestures to his arm with his right hand. Again, I nod.

"You weren't supposed to find out though! Nobody was, especially not you!" He's starting to hyperventilate, panicking, looking about two seconds from bolting for the window.

"Regardless-"

"Because if you know, _they_ will know too. And they'll come for me and-and take me back to that place. And I don't want to-I don't, I don't I-please Professor, I'll do anything, anything, just don't tell anybody. Because if word gets around that I'm here, if people, if the Order, if you start talking, then they'll, they'll-" He stops his panic-filled, barely follow-able monologue and starts sobbing. "Please."

Minerva, Poppy, and Albus stare at the two of us in horror. I know that they're thinking the same thing; _what was _in_ those memories?_

In this moment, with the sobbing child on the ground, with the horrors of his summer fresh in my mind, with my colleagues watching us in shock, words fail me for the first time ever. So I say the first two words that come to my lips, and the two words that are probably the last thing I should have said.

"He's dying."

And when I've gotten out those words, ignoring the horror-struck looks of the others in the room, I flee the room, find the nearest bedpan, drop to my knees, and vomit up everything I've eaten in the past week.

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><p><strong>AN: So I tried to be less cliffhanger-y at the end...didn't work out so well. Sorry...but the next chapter should be up soon, probably before I update my other two fics, mostly because I know exactly the direction I want the next chapter to go in, but wanted to cut off this chapter before it got too long. Anyway, farewell, goodnight (if you're in my timezone at least) and I'll see you all next time!**

_**-Winged Quil**_


	14. Determination of One, Impatience of Anot

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the crazy, twisted idea of what would happen if these two fandoms met. Got it? You're not gonna sue? Good.**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Fourteen: Determination of One, Impatience of Another.<strong>_

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><p><em>Harry<em>

_They know. They know. Sweet Merlin, they know. Everything._

These words, repeated over and over in my fevered brain, are what keep me on the floor, huddled up in a small ball. I should run, flee, get out of here. They will turn against me now, they'll hand me over to the whitecoats, because they now know who I am. Nothing more than a freak.

Or maybe they won't hand me over, but even then, somehow, the whitecoats will find me. I know they will, they will, and then I will be tortured all the more for escaping. I know I'm being unreasonable, irrational, ridiculous. But the fear I feel when I remember all the torment and torture, screams and sobs, pain and more pain, and then think of it all happening again, a thousand times worse...it's enough to turn me into an animalistic creature, reduce my brain to rubble, make me abandon all shreds of human reasoning and rely purely on instinct.

And now my instinct is telling me to make myself as small as physically possible. Curl up in a ball and hope and pray that they'll all forget about me.

_Harry, Harry, snap out of it!_

I close my eyes and shake my head rapidly. I don't want to listen to anyone. Why can't they all just leave me alone? Alone, alone, alone! I realize that my hands, which were pressed against my face, are soaking wet from my violent sobs. A gentle hand touches my shoulder, but I don't trust it, _can't_ trust it. I jerk away, screaming in terror. Someone gasps, a voice I recognize but can't place.

_It's Dumbledore, Harry! Dumbledore, you can trust him, he won't hurt you. Please, please, please son, snap out of it!_

The voice-my father, right?-is beginning to sound desperate, pleading with me, begging me to see that this man won't hurt me, that I'm safe, that I won't be harmed here. I can't trust it though, no, no, no. Voices can't be trusted. Ever.

_Dark places, creepy places, voices whispering harsh words and threats, a scream, a choked, strangled sob. Hunkering down, hands over ears, rocking back and forth, eyes screwed shut. The voices don't like that, and they rise in volume, swirling around, sharp knives stabbing into my skin, a long tentacle wrapping around my throat, choking me, killing me..._

...no, no, don't think of that place.

_...water swishing around my ankles, screams rising into the night as teeth dug into my flesh, totally blind, thrashing around, a frantic scream. An icy cold filling my heart, suffocating me, drowning me. Rattles sounding in the dark, hisses of snakes echoing, and I understand their murderous intent perfectly, yet can't speak back. More teeth digging in, and I feel myself grabbed by the shoulder, spun around, and a lipless mouth crashed against my own, I was dying, dying, my soul leaving me..._

_...only to wake up, gasping, wired to a machine that generated a world of fear and terror._

Voices surrounded me, and I can't tell if they are real or imagined, I can't tell which school he was in, Hogwarts or that dreaded, dreaded place, I don't know what my own mind had come up with. Who was my friend, who was my enemy? I don't know. It was just like being back inside that tank.

I can trust no one, and yet...and yet...

I feel that there was someone I _can_ trust. Someone I love? Or was it many someones? Or am I alone? I hear voices, yelling, arguing, yet couldn't make any of them out. Then a single voice breaks through. A single word, a name, spoken with hysteria and delight, and sheer and utter disbelief.

"Harry!"

My name. I'm Harry. Me, myself, I. I'm Harry. I'm not fully human, I'm an experiment, I'm a wizard, I'm dying. My most hated professor just found out, and I'm terrified of being found by those who turned me into this. Remember, remember. Now I remember. But is that a good thing, or a bad thing?

A scent engulfs me. Books, parchment, ink, magic, power. And salt. The smell of tears. Every nerve in my body is burning with...what? Love? Is that this mysterious sensation? Tears drop into my hair and two words repeat themselves over and over.

"You're alive, you're alive, you're alive, you're alive."

_Hermione..._ I realize with a jolt. _It's Hermione._

And just like that, I'm human again. Human, and feeling an aching sense of sorrow and remorse. She's relieved that I'm alive, she's happy, she's crying with relief. But on June tenth she will see my corpse again, cold and lifeless on the ground. And that time, I won't wake back up. So I say the only two words I can think of.

"I'm...sorry..."

"Wha-what do you mean?"

Maybe it wasn't the right thing to say. And then her arms tighten around me in shock. And that's when I realize that I still don't have a shirt on. And her hands are resting on my wings.

* * *

><p><em>Hermione<em>

I had been jolted out of my slumber by arguing voices and frantic screams. I had run into Madame Pomfrey's office to find one of the best and worst scenes I've ever seen. Harry had been rocking back and forth, curled in a ball, eyes unfocused and screaming his head off. But he had been alive.

I had immediately screamed his name, and run towards him, throwing my arms around him and ignoring everyone else in the room. He had stopped screaming, leaned into my embrace, and took a deep shuddering breath. And then he had whispered two words.

"I'm sorry."

_Sorry for what?_ I had thought. _What is there to be sorry for? He's alive, alive, alive. Harry's alive. I thought I'd lost him. I thought that Harry, my best friend, my confident, the light of my life, was dead. But now he's here. Living, and breathing, and Harry. What was the cause of his guilt? We should be rejoicing together._

All this flew through my head in less than a second.

"Wha-what do you mean?" I had stuttered.

And then I had realized two things. The first, Harry had no shirt on. Naturally, this caused me some embarrassment. But that thought was immediately wiped from my mind by the next thought. My hands were resting on his back. But it wasn't ordinary skin I felt. No. It was feathers.

And so now I sit here, my arms still wrapped around his too-thin torso, my hands placed over what was definitely feathers on his back.

"What is this?" I ask.

He takes a single breath, shaky and uncertain, readying himself. And then, with a whoosh, the feathers rise and slip from beneath my fingers, and he extends a pair of jet-black, enormous wings.

"I-I-You-How-" I stammer, sitting back on my feet, hands on Harry's shoulders, not taking my eyes from my friend, who was both deadly and beautiful, elegant and dangerous, a demon and an angel. How had this happened? Had Harry always been like this? Or did it have to do with the summer?

"I was...kidnapped by these...scientists over the summer and they-they-" He stops, unable to complete the sentence.

"-did this to you?" I ask, saying what he can't. It's then that I realize that he's covered with scars of all kinds, large and small, crooked and unnaturally precise, scars made from cuts, scars made from burns. Some unusual circles that looked like they were made from...electrodes? And then, on his left arm, a tattoo of what looks like a date, or an identification number.

"Merlin, Harry," I whisper, before throwing my arms around his neck and pulling him closer "I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry. Those...monsters...they just...I just want to..."

He laughs softly, nervously, before wrapping me in a hug of his own, his wings mirroring the action so we are encased in a canopy of feathers. "I do too, Hermione. Believe me, I do too."

I hear a soft cough and Harry and my heads whip around, noticing for the first time that we're not alone. In the room with us are Professors McGonagall, who is the one who coughed, Dumbledore, and Snape, who looks even paler than usual and slightly sick. And then the door swings open and Max Martinez stumbles in, eyes bleary from sleep and hair frizzing.

"What's going on...Harry!" she exclaims, head spinning to look in the once-dead-now-alive-and-apparently-an-experiment boy in the eyes. "You're alive! Are you okay?"

"Mostly."

"Good."

At my questioning look, asking without words why she's not more surprised at Harry being alive, she shrugs.

"I've seen weirder," she states simply.

That's right. According to her, she was imprisoned by the same people who took Harry. Which, if she's telling the truth, most likely means she's been changed in some way as well.

I stand, pulling Harry with me, and look him in the eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Yes, Harry," said Dumbledore, whose eyes are shining with sadness. "We can help you, my boy. Why didn't you tell us what happened to you?"

"No one can help me," Harry says coldly, angrily, though not at Dumbledore. His right hand encircles his left arm, gripping the tattoo so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

"Harry?" I whisper, startled at his quick change in mood.

"You didn't tell her?" asks Max, clearly surprised.

"Tell me what?"

Harry pales and looks at the ground. He clearly doesn't want to tell me, he's scared, terrified. How can any one secret cause so much fear at telling it?

"I-I'm-I'm-" He takes a deep breath, and faces me, sorrow and pain reflected in his eyes. "I'm going to die. And I can't-I can't stop it. I can't do anything about it." His breath hitches and he falls to his knees. "I have to say goodbye to all of you...but I just...can't. It hurts too much. I just want to live. See my sixteenth birthday. Is that really too much to ask for?"

I'm numb. He's dying. He may be alive for now but soon, before his sixteenth birthday, he will die. I shake my head stubbornly, no. He won't. I won't allow it.

"No," I say. I kneel on the ground next to him and take his cup his face in my hands, forcing him to make eye-contact with me. "It's not too much to ask for. And you know what? I'm going to get you your wish, Harry. You will live. I won't let you die on me. I promise you that."

He looks at me and smiles, half-sadly, half-hopefully. "You'll try? You'll really try to help me?"

"Of course."

"And how will you go about doing that Miss Granger?" Snape asks. "I doubt there's ever been a situation like this before."

I lift Harry's arm and trace the tattoo. We have till June tenth to find a cure for this.

"Well, Professor, there's a first time for everything. We could use your help, Merlin knows how many potions will be involved." His fingers twitch, probably itching to get started on the project. The twinkle in Dumbledore's eye is going full-force, Harry looks cautiously optimistic, Max is unreadable, and McGonagall seems to be crying.

"We will beat this," I murmur, and then I pull him into a hug again, running my fingers through his feathers. I don't know if I'm lying to him or not. I don't know if it's possible to save his life. But he's beaten impossible odds before, he's cheated death. Once when he was merely one, and then again, mere moments ago. I have to believe he can do it again. Because if I don't, I won't be able to go on.

It is when I am pulling away to wake up Ron and tell him the news, good and bad, when it happens. Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see a shadow unattached to a person or object.

But when I turn my head to take a closer look, it's gone.

* * *

><p><em>They're going to try to beat this, hmm?<em> I think, moving over to sit behind my desk, crossing my fingers, the fake appendages that aren't truly mine, in front of me. With a flick of my wand I lock the door, needing some time alone to consider the new developments.

The Hogwarts staff know, and it won't be long before Dumbledore's little Order do as well. So does that Mudblood, so it would be logical to assume that the red-headed brat will soon. I sigh, drumming my fingers against the desk. It's taking all of my self control not to snatch away the boy now. Valuable time is being wasted, time in which we could learn how to extract magic from wizards and give it to muggles, time in which we could learn about the boy's Medium abilities. And of course, time in which we could learn of the boy's mysterious ability to fend off the killing curse.

But there's also a more personal reason for wanting the brat under my control again. I miss The School, miss hearing the tortured screams of the subjects. And there were so many tests I wanted to do on Potter, tests involving magic that I couldn't do before, a Cruciatus or two (or hundred) spells to test limb re-growth, spells that broke every bone in the body and healed them again, over and over, potions that set the body on fire, literally, then grew the skin back so quickly that the subject didn't die and the fire never ran out of fuel, so many tests that I am itching to try...

But no, we had to let the subjects escape on purpose, had to see how they reacted in a school setting, when people could easily discover their secrets. That's why I was here, to observe and record, to make sure everything was going according to plan. And to run a few tests dealing with the mind, potions slipped into the food that would amplify the bad memories, induce nightmares and hallucinations, convince the subjects they were going mad. It was great fun to watch them jump at the littlest noises and flinch from their friend's touch.

Still, I think, twirling a cursed knife around in my stubby fingers, I was greatly looking forward to one specific test once Potter was back in my grasp. That Iggy boy, his eyesight had been healed. I had been careless, used a method that could be healed by magic.

This knife would destroy his sight forever, wreck it beyond repair. And I'm really, really, really looking forward to destroying those emerald green eyes. I sigh and replace the knife, get up, stretch, and leave the office. Wearing someone else's skin really takes a lot out of you. And I was getting very sick of pink.

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><p><strong>AN: *Dramatic music* So...this chapter was written sort-of spontaneously. The Umbridge-thing wasn't gonna be revealed until later, but then I thought it'd be interesting to write her point of view on some of the events, thought 'what the heck' and added it. Hermione and Ron also weren't going to find out about the expiration date or wings, but I thought that it'd be interesting if they tried to reverse the date, and brought them into the equation. Now, a lot has happened and it's only mid-September in the story. There is going to be a brief cool-down period where not a lot happens, I'm warning you now, the next chapter will be mostly filler.**

**As to what exactly that entails, most likely Medium training, the school's reaction to the fact that Harry is alive, and more scheming from our least-faveorite toad. And maybe some Harmony if you're lucky...**

_**-Winged Quil**_


	15. This Is Where I Fall

**A/N: H-hi everyone. *hiding behind Anti-Angry-Readers-Who-Wanted-A-Faster-Update-Sheild* So I didn't update...sorry. But I did go back on one promise that you will be happy about, this chapter ain't filler! Here it is...hope it makes up for two months...**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter. I also don't own the HetaOni OST, where I stole the chapter title from.**

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><p><em>Harry<em>

"Potter. Take a seat."

I toss my bag to the floor and sit down gingerly in one of the hard-backed chairs. I do not allow myself to relax fully. Not with the enemy so close. Yes, it was just Snape. But you never knew. I was starting to fear an agent of the School had infiltrated Hogwarts. Strange hallucinations had been swimming across my vision at the most inopportune of times and my nightmares had been growing worse. When I spoke with the rest of the Flock, they reported similar symptoms.

Poor Iggy, in particular, had looked shaken, forced to relive the agonizing surgery that resulted in the loss of sight. Over and over, again and again, every single night, and sometimes even during the day.

We were all growing weary.

It had been a month since my near death experience, a month since my friends had found out my secret, and a month since I had started medium training. The most fun I've had since I died was the first morning, walking casually into the Great Hall and eating bacon with my friends like nothing was wrong. The expressions on the faces...one word. Priceless.

And then, it seemed, life just...got harder.

My medium powers are progressing well, but not well enough, and I'm starting to fear the spirits will never leave my head. It's still better than the progress on the expiration date issue, which is nonexistent. October has come. Eight months left.

And I'm alone in a room with Snape, who may or may not be evil. Needless to say, I was on my last nerve, extremely jumpy, and really, really wanted to break something. Preferably a white room filled with fancy, shmancy, expensive scientific equipment.

"Ready to begin?" Snape asks. I snap out of my wistful daydream of syringes exploding, their contents sprayed around the room in slow motion, and nod curtly.

_"See you,"_ murmurs Dad, as he fades from my mind. _"Good luck." _

"You know the drill Potter," says Snape. I close my eyes and reach out to the afterlife. By now, this part is easy. It's basically detaching my mind from my body, and placing it in the river of souls constantly flickering across the face of death. I can call forth a spirit at will, but selecting who is harder. I'm just starting to get a grasp on sensing who was good, and who was not.

I feel the millions of pulsing points of light brushing against the border of my consciousness. They're curious, fluttering things, like moths hovering around street lamps. I lie in the gray murk for awhile, until one ventures over.

_"Hello?"_ the soul asks. _"Who are you?"_

_"Harry."_ I respond, brushing aside the shock that one of them is actually talking to me. Normally they just posses me, and it feels like mere seconds pass before I'm opening my eyes, Snape giving me a slightly strange look for whatever rubbish I may have sprouted.

_"Are you alive?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Can I visit life through you?"_

I can see her now, a young girl, maybe seven. She's wearing a white robe and her dark brown hair is long and tangled, sweeping down to her waist. Her face is babyish, she's barefoot, and her eyes are wide and trusting. Innocent. So she probably didn't die in some horrible, violent circumstance. Maybe a car-crash, or an illness.

Why am I thinking about this?

Why should I care how this girl, this complete stranger, died?

_"Yes."_

_"How do I get there?"_

I smile and hold out my hand.

_"Take my hand."_

She reaches out, wrapping her own, tiny hand around mine. I close my eyes and drift with the currents, allowing the natural pull between my body and life to drag my soul and the girl back to my mind.

I can feel my soul being suppressed and squashed by the burning strength of the dead girl. Is it death that gives her this strength? Her youth? Her innocence, one thing that I am sorely lacking.

Whatever it is, I won't allow myself to be stuffed in some dark corner, forced to be merely a vessel. Not again.

I struggle back and the girl cries out.

_"Let me stay_!" she screams, and I realize that I am shoving her out, when I merely wanted to stay in my own mind.

_"Can't we just share?"_

_"No! If I let go, you'll just kick me out again! I want control! I want it, I want it, I want it, I want it!" _

_"Please!"_ I beg, starting to feel fear coiling inside my body.

_"No!"_ I'm starting to realize the truth. This girl, she's not…she's not an innocent little seven-year-old after all.

_"Foolish boy!"_ She's growing, twisting into a woman covered in scars, with cold gray eyes, short black hair, ivory white skin, and a wicked, feral smirk.

_"NO! IT CAN'T BE YOU, NO!"_

I'm panicing now, even though I know that really isn't a good idea. If my mind is frenzied, it will be easier for spirits to take it over. Snape has drilled that into me by this point. But this woman, the horrible tortures she inflicted on me, it all makes it impossible to think of anything except pain, pain, and more pain.

Now I'm feeling it physically, I don't know what she's doing but it feels like a thousand needles are piercing my skin over and over. The sensation is not unlike that of the Cruciatus curse, except that everything is gray, and I don't know which way is up and which way is down, and I'm trapped inside my own mind. Am I even giving voice to my agony? Am I screaming, or just sitting in the real world with my eyes closed, seemingly peaceful.

_"Stop it! PLEASE, STOP!"_

After what feels like another eternity of agony, it all stops and I lie in the hazy mist, eyes wide open, but unable to see anything but gray. And then a giggle echoes through the emptiness.

_"It was I who gave you these powers, child. Don't think that I don't understand how they work. Don't think that I gave you the ability to call the dead to benefit you. It was all for me. And soon, child, you'll be back in my grasp. That pain was only a tickle compared to the agony you'll be in when you return to the School."_

_"No. No. You'll never take me, never, never, never. You can't hurt me anymore."_

_"But that's the thing," _she whispers as the gray fades away. _"I can." _

I gasp and my eyes flutter open. My back is cold and I'm aching all over. Snape is kneeling next to me, hands on my shoulders, as if he'd been shaking me. I realize that I'm lying on the freezing stone of Snape's office. So that's where the cold came from. I then notice, to my utter humiliation, that tears are running down my face and my throat feels raw. I must have been screaming. Screaming, and crying for that matter.

"Potter," Snape says, and is it my imagination, or is there a hint of relief in his voice? "What happened?"

I stand shakily, not intending on telling him what happened. My gaze drops to the floor and I stand silently, waiting for him to yell at me, to call me weak, to tell me to practice more.

"What happened?" he repeats.

I'm done here.

"I hardly think you need to know sir," I say, still staring at my feet. "I don't intend to continue these lessons."

Call me weak, tell me I'm pathetic for giving up. But I don't want to risk that kind of pain again. I don't want to see that woman again. I'm getting the strangest feeling though, a feeling that I _had _seen her. Around here, around Hogwarts.

Wait a second...

Her laugh...it sounded...really...

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><p><em>"Umbridge"<em>

_Familiar_

I've grown too used to this skin, I used that woman's laugh, that annoyingly high-pitched giggle. Did he notice? Of course he did, his observational powers are extraordinary. I have to dispose of the child. Now.

Well I did have a failsafe. I plan, a plot should I slip up. It would be a shame that the child couldn't be studied for longer. Ah, well, there's always the others.

I reach my stuby fingers forward, curling them around the knob of the drawer im front of me. I take a deep breath, open the drawer, and pull out the small, magical, hand-held device. I open it and navigate to Potter's file. My eyes scan the screen, looking for the correct number. Ah. There it is.

I tap the number, and then the delete key

6/10/96

Click. Tap. Tap.

10/27/1995

Today's date.

A small bubble pops up, asking me for the amount of time I want to give the child.

10 seconds.

Done.

Now all I have to do is wait.

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><p><em>Harry<em>

A burning pain flickers across my arm just as Snape opens his mouth to ask again, what happened? I pull up my left sleeve and stare at the date, the tattoo I've grown to loathe more than anything.

The date...it..no...

I look up, meeting Snape's eyes.

"I-"

A swooping, dizzying feeling envelopes me, sending me crashing to my knees. _It hurts..._

No, stay alive!

my brain cries at me. _Keep breathing! Fight! FIGHT! You can beat this, remember! FIGHT!_

The voice sounds surprisingly like Hermione's, and part of me, most of me, wants to listen to it. _But it would be so good to rest...just for a little while..._

No...don't give in...don't sleep...don't die...

"POTTER!" Snape grabs my forearm, turning it over so he can see the date. Upon realizing what has happened, he curses and gives me a horrified look. "Stay alive, Potter! Keep breathing!"

"I'm...sorry..."

The blackness that has been gathering at the edges of my vision swoops in, claiming me as it's own. I feel the last breath of air leave my lungs in a whoosh, feel my heart stutter to a stop. And then there's nothing.

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><p><em>"Umbridge"<em>

I smirk. A minute has passed since I changed the date. Surely he must have succumbed by now. I cross the room and unlock my closet. A woman is unconcious, slumped against the wall. Dolores Umbridge. The real one. A simple memory alteration charm and she, and everyone else, will be none the wiser that I was here.

I placed the charm and sat the woman down at her hideously ugly desk, set a spell in place to wake her up in twenty minutes, grabbed the few possestions that were actually mine, and set off. Within five minutes I was out the door, in the Forbidden Forest, explaining the change of plans to my Eraser subordinates. Basically, the same thing, only eight months in advance.

Now all we had to do was wait for the boy's funeral.

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><p><em>Hermione<em>

My chest is heaving with sobs as the simple brown casket is lowered into the earth. This isn't fair! It isn't! He had until June! We were going to find a cure and celebrate and then...I was going to tell him I loved him! Why did the date change? Why? Why must the good die young?

The funeral isn't large. The date was kept a secret so only those who knew Harry, really knew him, could attend. Otherwise reporters and Ministry officials would have swarmed the place. And it didn't take a genius to figure out that Harry would have despised that.

So here I stand with the entire Flock, The Weasleys, Lupin and Tonks, the fifth year Gryffindors, the Quidditch team, Moody, Dumbledore, and Sirius. He's disguised as Snuffles, of course, but the look on his face...it makes me feel nauseous. Harry was the last tie he had to Lily and James. And now he's gone.

And he can't even greive properly at his funeral. Forced to hide as an animal, not even allowed to give voice to his agony.

It's time. We begin to step forward, one by one, sprinkle a handful of dirt on the casket, and say some final words to Harry. When it's my turn, I close my eyes so I don't have to see the box that my friend lies in, soon to be nothing but dust and memories.

"Where to begin, Harry? The adventures you, Ron, and I had together were some of the best times of my life. Even though we were terrified out of our wits half the time...Harry you were the strongest person I knew. I only wished I could be a courageous as you. You are...were...a true hero. And you were also the person I fell in love with," I ignore the gasps behind me and continue. "I only wish I had the courage to tell you when you were alive." I throw the dirt over the coffin. "Goodbye, Harry. I'll never forget you."

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><p>Darkness. Why is it so dark? My eyes are open, wide open, but I can see nothing. Have I gone blind? I try to sit up and my head slams into something hard and solid. I wince and fall back, stars bursting in my vision.<p>

Where am I? What is going on?

It all comes back to me in a rush. The giggle, the change, the exhaustion, the darkness taking over the vision, dying. Death.

And then it makes sense. The reason it's dark, the reason I'm in a box, the reason there's a scent of dirt in the air. I've been buried alive.

I slam my fists against the top of the casket. "LET ME OUT! SOMEONE LET ME OUT!" I know nobody can hear me, I know I'm six feet under. But I've abandoned all reason, focusing on only one out.

I rake my nails against the wood, desperate to escape. It doesn't work, and I collpase back, a hysterical sob bubbling out of my throat. I can't die like this! Why can't it just be _over_, already? How many times do I have to die? Will this be my final demise? Suffocating in the dark? I hate the dark. I hate closed-in spaces. After the school, those are the two things I fear the most.

How ironic.

Wait a minute...

Is it just my imagination, or do I hear a scraping noise? A shovel? Grave robbers? Any other time I would be horribly angry, I've always hated people who disrespected the dead, but now I'm just relieved. In fact, I would probably hug the person who opened the coffin and let me out.

The lid is flung open, revealing a circle of sinister faces, many of them half-morphed into wolves. So much for the hugging idea.

A woman leans over me, her scarred face twisted into a sinister smile promising nothing but terror and agony.

"Ready to go home?" she asks.

I scream.

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><p><strong>AN: Poor, poor Harry...this was going to happen in June 10th, but the fic would have just dragged on and on with ten chapters of filler so I decided against it. Written to the HetaOni OST vocal covers of Vanity, England's Song, and This is Where I Fall, by Lia1291, on YouTube. Check 'em out, they're really good!**

_**-Winged Quill**_


	16. Insanity, Grief, and Rebellion

**A/N: So, first and foremost, I am very sorry for the long wait and evil cliffhanger. I have been busy, I've been getting essays and assignments and all sorts of crazy stuff in school, and I've had no time at all to write. However, I got a laptop for Christmas, so now I can write when I have time on the bus and such. I would like to work on some original things along with fanfiction. For now, I'm planning on focusing all my fanfic efforts on this fic (along with the occasional oneshot) rather then my other multi-chaps. When I finish this, I'll go back to the others. Again sorry, you may now proceed to virtual-throw tomatoes at my head.**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Sixteen: Insanity, Grief, and Rebellion <strong>_

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><p>When I open my eyes, all I'm met with is an empty void. I'm so alone, so very, very alone. I'm shaking violently, my arms splayed across a cold, flat surface, the tips of my fingers touching something metallic. My eyes are open...I think, but there's not even the faintest glimmer of light.<p>

Where am I? What's going on?

_Who am I?_

I don't even know my own name, don't remember ever having a name, but I know I'm supposed to have one. I don't ever remember seeing anything, but I know that I'm not supposed to here, that this isn't right, that there should be more than just emptiness.

Help me. Someone? Anyone? Save me from this, please? Help me remember.

A clacking sound, something is moving towards me. I reach out, desperate, my mouth trying to make words when I don't know how. I'm trapped inside my head, unable to express myself, trying desperately to remember.

An unlatching sound and the metal swings away from my fingers. Hands are on my arms and dragging me up and out, there's a new noise, one that I don't know the name of. It was warm, or it should have been warm, but wasn't, it was cold, so very cold, and it scares me, and I don't know why. What was that noise called again?

I am pulled forwards, stumbling over my own feet, not knowing or seeing where I'm going. I'm suddenly shoved, violently, but I don't fall all the way to the ground, caught by some flat surface. The hands turn me over so I'm lying on my back, before restraining me, shackling my wrists and ankles to the table.

A single word is spoken, Crucio, and I manage to think, in the millisecond between the cause and the effect, that nothing good is coming. Then suddenly, I'm in pain, so much pain, fire coursing through my veins, screams tearing from my throat and flying around the room, and I want nothing more than to be somewhere, anywhere else.

The pain stops and there are more mumbled words I don't know the meaning of. A second voice responds. The first voice, the Crucio voice, says another word that I don't understand, but I feel that I should. Cold metal wraps around my head and I jump, startled by the sudden feeling.

There's that mysterious sound again, the one I don't understand. Then there's another pain flickering through me. It doesn't feel the same as the Crucio one, more of a ache than a burn. I don't even scream, it's so insubstantial compared to the first one, surely there can't be anything else worth my screams.

And then the fog in my head starts to lift. Facts, names, knowledge, memories, all of it. My name is Harry Potter. I was kidnapped. I'm in a place that can only be described as Hell on Earth. I've been here for I-don't-know-how-long. Every night I lose my memory. Every morning I regain it. The reason it's so dark, I'm blind. The reason I lose my memory, they torture me to insanity every day. The reason I'm strapped to this table, it's going to happen again.

The noise I heard earlier was laughter. And yes, there are other things worth screaming over.

"Ready to begin?"

And I wish that I didn't remember.

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><p>A few hours later, I'm not exactly sure when, being here has made me lose all sense of time, she finally stops. The woman who impersonated Umbridge, who stole away my sight with a gleaming knife, and locked me in a prison of pain.<p>

I'm covered in my own blood, still attached to a dozen-or-so wires, voiceless from the screams, terrified out of my mind. And the horrible thing is how routine, how normal, this whole ordeal is. I know what's going to happen. She'll be gone for an hour, on lunch break, before she returns to take away my sanity. Then it'll be back to the cage and I won't remember anything about today, or anything at all for that matter.

Tomorrow, she'll return everything with that mysterious machine, and the cycle will begin again. The same as it always will be, for the rest of my life, however long or short that may be.

They all think I'm dead, the woman has told me that often enough. Sirius, Max, Ron, Hermione...all of them. No one will be back for me, ever. No one will know that my coffin is empty, that I'm still alive, and wanting nothing more than to be dead.

"Help me."

Those two words, spoken in a hoarse whisper, spill out of my mouth involuntarily, and I find myself muttering them over and over. "Help me, help me, help me, help me."

They won't stop. _I_ won't stop. Even when my voice is gone, even when my mind is gone, the words spin through my very soul. Begging for help, wanting someone to save me, longing for any form of comfort. The woman took away my connection to the dead as soon as I arrived here, snatching up the last thing I had to make me feel safe, that might help me.

I hear the door open. The laugh fills the room again as the woman sees me, lying here, trembling, terrified, completely helpless. She only exists to feed on others pain, it seems. She isn't human, she _can't possibly_ be human.

"Help me," I whisper one more time, before the pain starts again.

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><p><em>Hermione<em>

I'm staring out the window in the Owlery, watching the snow fall. It's December 27th. Two days after Christmas but, more importantly, two months after Harry's death. I'm trying to move on. Really, I am. But every time I close my eyes, I see his face. Whether he's giving me a wry smirk, or laughing, a genuine laugh I haven't heard since last year, he's always happy. I refuse to remember him as the fearful, broken person he'd become before his death.

Because he deserves to be remembered for his best moments, for the moments that he shone, and smiled, and was strong, a shining star burning bright in a night sky, with an amazing future waiting for him. Not for the times when he sobbed and shook and broke my heart just by looking at him.

A hand rests on my shoulder. It's Ron, I know that without even looking. We've grown even closer since Harry's death, and sometimes I feel like we're the only ones in the school who genuinely mourn him. I know that's selfish, and likely untrue, know that others _do _ remember him as more than a famous face, but sometimes I feel like Ron and I are completely alone.

"You're crying," he says, and I am, silent tears streaming down my face as I gaze out the window, in one of the only places that we can get any privacy. I don't want the others to see me like this, can't afford to show people my weak side. I have to go on. Because that's what Harry would have wanted.

Arms wrap around me and I turn away from the window, burying my face in his shoulder. To a casual observer, we might look like two young lovers sharing a quiet moment, rather than the two remaining members of a trio, mourning the loss of the third.

We sit in the tower long past curfew, watching the snow and the stars in silence.

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><p><em>Max<em>

I race through the forest as fast as I can, arms pumping and breaths coming in shallow gasps. They've taken her. They've taken Angel. _Again._ I can't let her go back to that place. Especially not after what they did to Harry. Run, run, run. I can't afford to fly, they have guns, the air is too clear.

I throw a wild glance over my right shoulder to make sure Fang is still there. He is, practically gliding across the ground, face set in a mask of cold fury and determination. Nudge is shortly behind him, Iggy next to her, Gazzy bringing up the rear. I curse myself at our stupidity as I sprint. What had possessed us to go fly through the forest? Did we honestly think we were safe?

Yes. Yes we did.

And now we've lost her again. I know deep in my hollow bones, that there's no way we can catch up with them. They likely have a Jeep, heck, maybe even a helicopter, waiting in a clearing to take my baby away.

Yes, there it is, the familiar noise of blades slicing through the air, a copter building up the momentum to take off. As we come to a skidding halt in a clearing, we can clearly see it take off, the Erasers pointing guns at us, a clear warning.

_Come any closer and we'll shoot._

"ANGEL!"

But she's gone. It's too late. I've failed her. I've failed everyone.

There's a sudden rush, a dark shadow taking to the sky, a pair of pale white hands grasping the bag containing Angel. Fang is up there, despite the guns, despite the Erasers, and he's snatching Angel from right under their noses.

But I can't bring myself to cheer. Not when I can clearly see the barrels of the guns, glinting in the moonlight. Not when I see the Erasers' mouths pulled into a snarl, bent on getting his prize back. Fang's eyes widen. He knows whats going to happen to him, knows he can't prevent it. He shifts the bag forward, shielding Angel with his body. I'm paralyzed, feet rooted to the ground, unable to do anything but watch the horror unfold in front of me.

One, two, three shots ring out, and Fang's body jerks as each one hits him. For a single moment in time he hangs suspended in the sky, as if pinned there by the bullets. And then he drops, spiraling as he tries to stay in the sky, plummeting ten feet and crashing to the earth. I can see a woman yelling at the Erasers, and then, to my utter confusion, the helicopter turns, and flies away. My feet unstick and I sprint forwards, kneeling beside Fang. He's holding the squirming bag close to his chest, blood already starting to pool around him.

"No. No...please no," I gasp, fingers tightening around his hand. He smiles weakly at me.

"Hey there, Max."

"Don't talk, we need to get you back to the school, get you help," I say frantically, in complete denial of what was happening.

"Max..." he mumbles, squeezing my hand lightly. "Look at me, please." I stop staring at the blood, and gaze into his eyes. He smiles.

"That's better..." he murmurs, eyes starting to slip shut. With a final gasp, he manages to choke out the words I've never been able to say, for fear of rejection. "Love...you."

And then his hand slips from mine and falls to the forest floor. He's gone. No. He can't be gone, he just..._can't_ be.

Angel's head pops from the brown burlap bag, eyes brimming with tears.

"This is all my fault," she chokes out, staring at Fang's motionless frame. "Why did he come for me? I didn't...didn't want this..."

I grab her in a fierce hug, and can clearly feel her trembling. She's alive. She's _here._ Fang's sacrifice wasn't in vain. The others are walking over, Iggy and Nudge and Gazzy, surrounding us, joining the hug. We try to comfort each other, try to accept the fact that we've lost two friends in as many months.

And that's when I make my decision. I don't care how dangerous it may be, I don't care if I lose my life in the process. I will avenge Fang and Harry. The School will pay. And I won't let them ruin another life.

"This is going to end." I say softly. The arms of my family tighten around me, silently giving their support. They know exactly what my plan is, and they will gladly assist. We've all had our entire lives shattered by the whitecoats. No more. We were protesting.

We were fighting back.


	17. A Spy, A Discovery

**_Chapter 17: A Spy, A Discovery_**

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><p><em>Angel<em>

"We've been trying to splice chameleon DNA with the subjects and give them the ability to change their skin color to blend in to their environment. That is, if we can get them working. We've been experiencing trouble with the compatibility, though."

"What do you mean by that?" I ask, running a hand through my hair.

"They keep dying," Doctor Striker says, without a hint of emotion or empathy. "But that's alright, we have plenty more test subjects ready and waiting. Think they're going to a special school for the gifted.

"Students, then. How old?"

"Between the ages of twelve and eighteen."

"Infants might be more effective, though, don't you think?"

"When the formula is perfected, we will. But it's much harder for us to get our hands on infants, we often have to pay a substantial amount."

Doctor Striker continues to show me around the interior of the School. Strange children with blue, scaly skin and, according to Striker, invisible gills. A half-cat, half-mouse creature that was slowly starving to death. A little girl, no older than five, shivering in the corner of a cage. Striker stops in front of this one, deeming it appropriate to give me a more in-depth explanation.

"We've been experimenting with a new chemical, one that freezes the core body temperature. It's not quite getting the results we hoped for, though. Too slow."

"You don't have to do this," a voice said quietly. I turn to see a man crouched in a cage, hands clenched around the bars, immeasurably old eyes watching Striker, judging her.

Striker pulls out a wand and cast a Crucio over her back without even looking. The man collapses to the cage floor, screaming out in agony. Striker holds the curse on him for a few minutes, then withdraws, leaving him curled up in a ball, gasping and shaking.

"No matter how many times I curse him, he just won't shut up," she says, sheathing the wand and leading me on to the next room. "Interesting subject though. Bi-cardial. Found him trying to break into The School."

I wonder why someone who wasn't a past subject would even dare, but my attention is quickly diverted when Striker leads me into a lab. Lying on the table is a completely disfigured teenager. His entire body is covered with scars and burns, his wings, for he was like me in that respect, were twisted and bent and broken, some sections completely bare of feathers. But the worst part was his eyes. Or rather, lack thereof. Empty, bloody eye sockets, staring at the ceiling. I have to hold back vomit.

"I wished to run tests to see how this subject would react to things with and without vision. Also, being unable to see works as a wonderful deterrent to escape. I'm considering trying it on the bi-cardial subject as well, he's tried to escape five times."

"How was the operation carried out?" I ask, hoping against hope that the woman would say something about antiseptic at the very least.

"Eye clamps and a knife. Simple, but very, very effective. Last time we tried a more sophisticated means the subject, as you know, was healed by magic."

_That'd be Iggy, _I think, before something occurs to me.

"So the first...subject," I say haltingly, hating myself for using that word, "was the vision destruction on purpose?"

"Of course it was," Striker says. "Whatever gave you any other idea? The subject had tried to escape earlier in the day. We were teaching it a lesson."

"H-It said that it was an attempt to improve it's night vision."

"We never told it the reason of the operation. It probably just wanted to find a justification for why it was in pain. We noticed that the subjects tend to do that. Well, the ones who can think, that is."

I nod. "Can this subject? Think, I mean."

"Sometimes."

"Meaning?"

Striker threads her long fingers together. "We need to learn all we can from this subject. It has very unique abilities, abilities that would benefit the entire human race if we could figure out what they are. We're also detecting a foreign presence in it's head, and are trying to extract it to see if it has anything to do with those abilities. And so, we get as much tests as we can in before the day ends. As you are well aware, these tests are quite painful," _Don't I know it, _I think, "and so this particular subject's sanity does not usually survive to the end of the day."

I swallow. "The end of the day? Meaning you return its sanity? How?" Striker pulls out what looks like an elaborate helmet.

"With this. Returns sanity with the push of a button. It took us years of research, and a fair but of magic, to figure it out, but we got there."

"Can it remember previous days of testing when you activate the device?"

"Oh yes. Here, allow me to demonstrate."

Striker places the straps the device to the poor soul's head, then flicks the on switch. It tenses. And then his entire face twists into an expression that can only be described as horror. He whimpers in fright, too shaken up to even scream, knowing full well what's to come. I hone in on his thoughts, wondering if I can get anything useful, if I can comfort him even.

_It's so dark._ For some reason, his mental voice sounds familiar. _I'm so cold and oh God, she's going to take my sanity away again. Help me, help me, someone, anyone, help me._

_It's alright, _I think-say, trying to sooth him. _I'm going to help you._

_Angel? _His thoughts are incredulous, but incredibly, incredibly relived. _Is that you?_

_How do you know me? _I ask. _Who are you? Have we met?_

_It's me! _He cries out. _Me! Am I so scarred you can't recognize me anymore?_

And I suddenly realize where I've heard him before.

_Harry?_ I think-whisper. _Is that really you?_

_Yes, it's me! She faked it all, I wasn't dead, she dug me up, and-and brought me here and...and now I can't see and I'm in pain everyday Angel, so much _pain.

My heart breaks. Three months he's been here. Three months, and how terrible those three months must have been. Loosing his sanity over and over, then having it restored the next day, just in time to know what's coming.

"There we go!" Striker says cheerfully, holding up a blood-colored potion. "Just finished this now. Should set your very blood on fire if I did it correctly. Or, well..." she shrugs "you might just die. Probably won't, but you can hope. Pray, if you like." She forces his mouth open. "Bottoms up!"

I turn away as the screaming starts. Even if I can still hear his frenzied thoughts in my head, somehow, not seeing his face makes it a little more bearable.

* * *

><p><em>Hermione<em>

I finish setting up the highly sophisticated equipment in the Room of Requirement. A perfect blend of magic and technology, which would allow us to communicate with Angel.

It had been her who had come up with the idea of acting like she was on The School's side. We had protested, naturally, all volunteering to go in her place, but Angel had insisted, saying that, since she could read minds, she was by far the best spy.

We had begrudgingly agreed, and one month of planning and acting classes later, here we were. Thank Merlin Dobby managed to find us this place, otherwise we wouldn't have had a suitable place, or suitable equipment by any means.

I flip a switch, turning on the large screen that Angel would appear on. Ron jumps, not used to this. I would have snickered, were the entire situation not so serious.

Angel moves into view, glancing surreptitiously left and right, before kneeling down, speaking into her (much smaller) screen.

"Hi everyone," she says, shaking quite violently. Something must've happened, something horrible. Maybe something she was forced to witness?

"Are you okay, Angel?" Max asks, moving towards the screen, concern written all over her face.

"I'm fine," she says, "but..." she pauses, seemingly trying to find the right words. "...one of the subjects here..."

"Yeah? What is it sweetie?"

"It's...it's your...I don't know how to say this...oh forget it! You might want to sit down for this, you especially Hermione, Ron." We take her advice and I lean forward, nervous anticipation crawling through my gut as I wait for whatever information she has.

"Harry's here."

_What? I can't have heard that correctly._

"W-what?" Ron stammers.

It's then, through my dazed stupor of conflicting emotions, that I notice that Angel is crying.

"B-but...oh God, what they're doing to h-him, it's h-horrible."

"What do you mean?" I ask, dread coiling in my stomach. "What've they done to him?"

"I-I couldn't even _recognize _him," Angel says softly, numb shock written all over her face as tears stream down her face. "Not until I heard his thoughts, at least. He's in so much _pain. _Every day this woman this...this Doctor Striker woman she...she tortures him into insanity. Restores it every morning with this machine thing. But in between he's so alone, and confused, and terrified and...and I..." she breaks down. "I can't do this anymore! I know it's only been a day...but I just had to stand there and try to comfort him as he l-lost his mind and I-I just _can't do it."_

I'm shaking as much as she is by the end of her story, with a combination of anger, horror, and complete and utter sadness. My best friend, the one I loved, the first person my age who had actually been nice to me, had been tortured for three months..._three months_...and I didn't even know it. I thought he was dead, and in some twisted way, I know that it would have been better if he was.

Despite wanting to know no more, I can tell she's holding back, something important. And I have to know, I need to know what Harry is going through.

"What else?" I ask. "I know there's something else." I realize then how cold my voice sounds. "What aren't you telling us?"

Angel takes a shaky breath. "Striker, she...she..."

"She did what, Angel? What did she do to him?"

"She...she cut his eyes out."

I start crying. The numbness that held me earlier stopped the break down but this...this was just one thing too many. On top of everything else, Harry was blind. Harry. Sweet, kind, innocent Harry. What had he done to deserve this? Absolutely nothing.

"No." It was Ron, completely horrified at what Angel had said. "No, she can't have. There's no way she could have."

"I-I'm sorry Ron. But s-she did."

He clenches his fists, then lashes out, punching the wall. "DAMNIT, WHY HIM?! HE'S ALREADY GONE THROUGH SO MUCH, WHY THIS TOO?!"

I look over at The Flock through teary eyes. Iggy is shaking, staring at the floor before him numbly. Max is hugging him, staring at Angel with tears in her eyes. Nudge has her arms wrapped around herself. Gazzy has snuck over again from Grimmauld Place, and is sitting on the floor, trying to stay stoic. But his bottom lip is trembling, and I can tell he's about to burst into tears. When Nudge pulls him into a hug he allows himself to do so, crying all over her robes.

I turn to Ron, who's shaking with rage and sorrow after his outburst, and I gently take his arm and lead him back over to the couch.

"What do we do?" I ask softly. "We have to get him out of there, and soon. As soon as possible. Forget the long-term plan, I want to get him out of there as soon as possible."

"In that case," Max whispers, "we're going to have to seek help from the people we never seek help from."

"And that would be...?"

She sighs. "Adults."

**A/N: This story is a year old now, with 17,983 hits and 160 reviews. Thank you to everyone, and see you next time!**

**_-Winged Quill_**


	18. A Coming Battle

A/N: So I basically wrote the first bit, put off the rest for a ridiculously long period of time, then sat down, sucked it up, and finished it at three in the morning. We're nearing the end here people, another chapter or two and this story shall be complete! Fully disclaimed, I own nothing at all.

* * *

><p>Harry<p>

I reach a hand through the ever-present darkness, trying to find something, anything to hold on to. A strangled sob rises from my throat as all I feel is cold metal beneath my hand. I can hear the sniffling of several of my fellow prisoners, including one who had been subjected to the same fate as I.

I still couldn't get his screams out of my head, the sobbing, wailing, _pleading_, as Striker had cut his eyes out of his head. Despite not being able to see his pain myself, I could tell what was happening based on Striker's sadistic comments.

Although he's crying, as much as you can cry without tear ducts, I don't even try to comfort him. I know that it would only get the both of us punished. And, seeing as Striker allowed me to keep my sanity today, I don't want to push it.

Though I'm starting to wonder if that's really such a good thing.

Despite the fact I was confused, and lost, and completely and utterly terrified in between bouts of recollection before, at least I was ignorant. Ignorance truly is bliss in this place. It's better to not know what's coming.

And while before it was only dark and miserable, now I know _why_ it's dark and miserable. Because Striker had strapped me down to a table, pulled my eyes open with a pair of clamps and, with a slice of her wrists, destroyed my windows to the world forever. I doubted even magic could cure what had been done to me. And it hurts knowing that I'll never see the sunlight ever again. That the last image in my head, superimposed there for as long as I live, is flashing silver and burning crimson, a deep, horrible shade that I will never, ever forget.

The color of my own blood, bursting like a firework in front of me, lingering in my vision until I passed out from the pain. And then I awoke. She had let me keep my sanity then too.

At first there had been denial. Rage, pain, _there's no way this can be happening to me,_ agony, screams of pure, unadulterated agony that bounced off the metal walls of the cellblock, drawing whimpers from my fellow subjects.

And then the crying had begun. Gut-wrenching sobs that shook my very being and left me feeling more exhausted than I had been in a long, long time.

Drained, I had fallen asleep. Hoping against hope that when I woke, what was happening would all be some horrible nightmare. That's what I do now too, drifting off to the twisted lullaby sung by the one who now shares my darkness.

Hoping that when I wake, I will once again see the sun.

* * *

><p><em>Hermione<em>

"Lemon drop!" I yell at the gargoyle, my franticness dispelling all attempts at decorum. Thank Merlin that Dumbledore had given me the password after Harry's funeral "in case I ever needed anyone to talk to."

I don't even bother knocking, just barge through the door and sprint in with the Flock and Ron behind me, thundering into the circular office like a herd of elephants. Dumbledore looks up in surprise.

"I trust there is a reason for this late night intrusion?"

"Harry..." I gasp out, bending over as I try to catch my breath, putting my hands on my knees. "He's alive...Harry's alive..."

"What?" asks Dumbledore, his voice growing suddenly cold. Someone had made him think that Harry was dead, and there was going to be hell to pay when he found out who. This much is obvious.

"He's alive, Headmaster," says Max, pushing me aside impatiently. She doesn't have the slightest hint of a wheeze in her voice as she speaks, slowly and calmly, though I can see the panic growing in her eyes.

"Where is he? And how can you possible know?"

"Hermione figured out a rather complex blend of magic and technology to communicate with someone that we didn't even know was near Harry at the time. Genius." She rattles this off no problem, but has to fight to get the next sentence out.

"They took him back to The School. It was a trick." The fight seems to have drained out of her, and she collapses into a chair, putting her head in her hands. In this moment, she looks older than Dumbledore, and I want nothing more than to just hug this poor, lonely girl who has seen far too much death. "Another one. Another person I've failed."

"It wasn't your fault," murmurs Dumbledore, pulling her hands away from her face with one hand and lifting her chin with the other. "You can't be expected to know everything at fifteen."

"I should know enough to know when one of my fam...friends is really, properly dead. Look at me now." She laughs bitterly and yanks out of Dumbledore's grasp, standing. Some deep understanding seems to have passed between them, the great warrior turned teacher, and the fallen angel who doesn't know what to believe anymore.

The room is thick with tension as Max takes a deep breath to compose herself, brushing her tangled brown hair out of her eyes.

"We need help," Iggy says finally, when none of the rest of us can get the words out. "Angel's on the inside, tricking them–_don't," _he cuts himself off as Dumbledore opens his mouth to protest the last statement, "just don't. If she wasn't, then we wouldn't know the truth. And she's cleverer than you think. But we honestly need a good dozen witches and wizards on our side, we have to get him out of there as soon as we can."

A brief battle is played out behind Dumbledore's eyes, the wish to lecture us because we had put Angel in danger warring with the desire to contact the Order and immediately start making rescue plans. It's not long at all before the later wins out and Dumbledore's ushering us through the Floo Network and over to Number 12.

Mrs. Weasley is up and worried sick, looking for Gazzy. It appears that our subtly sneaking him away to Hogwarts for the night wasn't so sneaky after all. She probably had put wards on the fireplace.

"WHERE WERE YOU! I HAVE BEEN WORRIED SICK...Hello there Professor Dumbledore, do sit down and have a cup of tea...YOU ARE NOT LEAVING YOUR ROOM FOR A WEEK, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, MISTER?"

"Molly, breathe," says Dumbledore, taking the proffered chair. "This is an important matter, and it would do us no good to be shouting at each other."

Mrs. Weasley gives Gazzy one last look that promises quite a lot of pain later, and sits down in the chair across from Dumbledore, flicking her wand to start the kettle boiling. Thumping can be heard on the stairs, no doubt one or more residents of Grimmauld woken by Mrs. Weasley's formidable set of lungs.

Sirius strolls sleepily into the room, blinking at it's occupants confusedly. "What's going on...? It's two in the morning." He frowns upon seeing the exhausted, bedraggled, and teary faces of the teenagers. Worry swims through his eyes and the tiredness drains out of them simultaneously.

"What's wrong?" He asks, much less tired, much more serious.

Dumbledore sighs, showing his true age in a simple exhale, and then speaks. "Harry is alive, Sirius."

"WHAT?" shouts Mrs. Weasley, jumping to her feet. The kettle falls off the stove, sending water splashing everywhere, but every single person in the room has eyes only for Sirius.

Confusion. Hope. Anger. Not daring to hope. Those four emotions flash over Sirius's face within a single second.

"You aren't lying to me, are you Dumbledore? Or making a mistake? Because let it be said, if you give me false hope of my godson, I will never forgive you."

"We aren't lying. Sirius, why would we lie? Would I really condone such a childish trick?" Sirius shakes his head slowly, a wide grin starting to grown on his face. I wince, knowing that the sheer joy of having Harry back is soon to be shattered by the revelation of where he is.

"Can I see him? Why isn't he here?" The childish light starts to fade from Sirius' eyes when none of us answer, when I have to bite my lip to keep from sobbing. This isn't fair. None of this is fair.

"I'm so sorry, Sirius," murmurs Dumbledore grimly. "He's been taken back to the School."

Sirius just sits there for a moment, the shock of what he's just been told preventing him from doing anything else. His mouth drops open and his eyes darken. He looks for all the world like a child who's just been told that Santa Claus doesn't exist. Only ten times more horrified, and a hundred times more heartbroken.

"No," he whispers. "No, he can't be...he just...can't." His voice cracks on the last word, and soon Mrs. Weasley is enveloping the broken man in one of her signature hugs. Despite all their arguments and shouting, they have one thing in common. They both love Harry like a son, and hearing this awful news hurts like hell.

Mrs. Weasley's tears are silent, streaming down her face in an unending flow, but having no effect on the rest of her figure, compared the body-wracking sobs emitting from Sirius. The sight of the two adults, who are just as scared and miserable as I am, makes it more difficult for me to hold back my own tears.

I don't know how long I stand there before Sirius pulls himself together, pulling himself out of Mrs. Weasley's hug and getting to his feet. He takes a deep, trembling breath, lets it out, then turns to Dumbledore expectantly.

"What's the plan, when are we getting Harry back, and how soon will it be before I can rip those twisted monsters limb-to-limb?"

_Well, we all have our different ways of coping _I think as Dumbledore starts firing out his ideas rapidly and calling up other Order members, because, though it's really late, or really early depending on your point of view, they would all give up their precious sleep to save Harry's life. Max chimes in her ideas, the Flock follows, and after some protestation from Mrs. Weasley (children, risking lives, etc. etc.) the adults shut up and let her talk.

Because, as she has reminded us all dozens of times over the past few months, she isn't a child anymore. And she certainly knows the School better than anyone else in the room.

I am not sure how much of him there is left to save, how much of him will still be the Harry that I know and love. And I'm terrified.

* * *

><p><em>Max<em>

"-best way of getting him out would be to run up through here–to that tall platform, see?–and take off. They've got a witch or wizard on their side, there will be wards, we can't do the disappearing thing you're all so fond of. Iggy, you know what running blind is like, you lead Harry, you're the least likely to run into any obstacles." It hurts to say this last sentence, when it wouldn't have applied to him before, when he could have run through the School hallways without a hand to guide him. But I can't waste time dancing around the topic, Harry is blind, and we just have to compensate for it.

Dumbledore and the others listen, and I feel a swell of pride, an adult actually is listening to my ideas for once, not just brushing them aside as unimportant or idiotic. I hand over the quickly sketched map of the School and sit back. "And that's it. Simple is best, really. We run in, you engage the whitecoats with magic, we nip upstairs to the containment rooms and get Harry out."

"You got all that, Angel?" asks Iggy, turning to the re-activated Magi-Tech that Hermione has so graciously consented to set up again.

"A crude plan," drawls Snape from the corner, his usual manner not improved by the early hour, "but for this situation, when we have no time, it will do."

"Everyone, gather round, we're apparating," declares Sirius. We have painstakingly described the area around The School so that they can actually get us there with all body parts intact. I even gave them the map coordinates.

No one demands more time to plan, all knowing that is is essential that we get Harry out of there as soon as we could. I had rattled off Angel's information, the insanity, the mutilation, the blindness, in the midst of explaining my plan. Sirius had quite calmly gone over to a cupboard, grabbed a mug, thrown said mug across the room, then came back, sat down, and kept going over the plan.

Mrs. Weasley had turned her head away, hiding the fresh tears. Lupin had dug his nails into the wooden table while Tonks gently placed her hand on his shoulder. And Snape had sat alone, fairly stoic until I mentioned the eyes, which was when a flash of pain had skittered across his own, gone before I could be sure I saw it.

I look up at the ones staying behind, Hermione, Ron, Gazzy, Nudge, and give them what I hope is an encouraging smile. Probably more like a pained grimace

And then we're gone, me clinging to Sirius's arm as I'm squeezed through a tube, heading back to the place of my nightmares.


	19. Heartbeat

I think it's fair to say that I owe everyone here an apology for not updating in about two years, and leaving you all with a cliffhanger at that. I have no other excuse other than the fact that I'm no longer a huge fan of Maximum Ride. However, I've started to see this fic as a sort of testament to how my writing style grew and changed over the course of the two years I was actively writing this story, and I felt obligated to finish it: both for that reason and simply to give this thing an ending.

Fair warning: this chapter is dark. Readers take caution.

Alright, I think that's everything. So, without further ado, I present.

The final chapter of Not the Same, Never Again. Enjoy.

* * *

><p><em>Hermione<em>

The School is not the right place to go if you want a happy ending.

Maximum has told me this. To be quite honest, despite my attempt to remain optimistic, I believe her. God and Angel only know what happened to Harry within those walls. The latter has been forthcoming, but when I look into her eyes, and when I notice the tremors the move through her small form, I feel as though she has not told us everything. I know that Harry will be changed. Tortured and mangled beyond our wildest nightmares. The syrupy-sweet dreams, where grains of happiness stuck between my teeth like sugar—where Harry held me and I held him and we told each other of our long-secret loves—those could happen perhaps in the confines of my imagination. But in reality, with blinding knives and broken wings, there could only be suffering.

I know this. I considered standing away from the rescue group, like I was supposed to. Running away from the house, away from this life. I could leave this world of magic and go be a writer, a scientist, a lawyer. I wouldn't have to pull together the remains of my best friend. I could be happy, in some small, meaningless way. But if I did that, I would never know. And I was addicted to knowledge. And perhaps part of Harry's savior complex had rubbed off on me. I felt that if I wasn't there, if I didn't do something, the outcome would be even more terrible.

And so, just before they apparate, I leap forward and grab on to Max's arm. Next to me, Ron does the exact same thing.

We are immediately lectured upon arrival, of course. Told that the plan is more important than our desire to save our friend. Mrs. Weasley steps forward to drag us straight back home.

"He is my brother," Ron says in a furious whisper. "And if it were Fred, or George, or even bloody Percy in that building, you can be damn well sure I'd be charging straight in there. So why should Harry be any different?"

His mother might have brought us away, even still. But at this point, the guards spot us, and we are soon running for our lives into The School. Protegos are being thrown up left right and center. Offensive spells hit the guards in their chests and they fall to the ground, unmoving but breathing.

Between my spell-casting and my mediocre gymnastics skills, I manage to crouch behind an overturned armored vehicle. Soon, I am joined by Ron and Sirius. We wait for an opening in the flurry of bullets, blood, and spells. Lupin goes down with a shriek, clutching at his leg. Sirius twitches next to me, clearly wanting to run to his friend's side. He settles back with a sigh of relief when Tonks drops down next to Lupin, murmuring healing spells over his leg as Dumbledore shields the two.

Iggy and Max join us behind the vehicle. We peer out into the blinding floodlights, looking at the door. As if on cue, it opens, more guards running out to join the fray. This time, there are a few wizards in the bunch.

We sprint for the door, casting Stupefies and Protegos left and right, while Max and Iggy kick and punch their way through quite the impressive hoard of soldiers. One of the guards manages to catch a hold of my hair, ripping out a huge chunk of it before I knock him back with a body-bind curse.

"They'll start sending the Erasers out soon," Max says, drawing up next to me with a whirling kick. "We've got to get inside now."

I nod, acknowledging her worry, and begin to cast spells even faster, speaking as quickly as I can without slurring together the syllables.

We make it, scratch-covered, Ron slightly singed. Standing in the cold, metallic entrance hall of The School, I can hear screams echoing off the building's walls.

"The screams. They're constant," Max says quietly, almost involuntarily. I squeeze her shoulder, gently. She grew up here. I haven't really thought about that before, more focused on Harry than anything. But God, what must that have been like?

We run through the halls, gunfire intermixed with the screams, an orchestra that I could have gone my entire life without hearing. We dash through the first cage-lined hallway, opening door after door with Alohomoras. This is far too easy, I think as I help a tall, gangly man out of his prison. His eyes have been gouged out, his hand shakes on my arm, and I turn away so I don't vomit. This is what happened to Harry.

"Rose?" he asks, voice cracking.

"No. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I pull his thin fingers off my arm and keep running, leaving him standing in the hallway, confused and frightened, chaos raging around him. They could re-capture him easily, and I wish I could help him. But there are dozens more subjects in this hallway, and I can't help them all. Harry is the goal.

Another experiment—a small, shivering girl—grabs his hand and begins to lead him to the exit. I really hope they make it out.

"Alohomora, Alohomora, Alohomora..."

We reach the end of the hallway, and I run straight into a tall, thin woman with short black hair. She catches me by the arms and shoves me back, gazing at me contemplatively. Her eyes are a mixture of rage and curiosity. I think I know who this woman is. A glance at her nametag confirms it. Doctor Striker.

"Wasn't expecting this. I thought you would head straight to the subject you were trying to rescue."

I freeze.

"Oh come now. You really think I wouldn't suspect Angel Ride of deceit?" Max freezes beside me, staring Striker down.

"What have you done?" she demands.

"As soon as she sent that transmission, she was good as Eraser food. You can head to their compound if you want to find her...there might still be some hair left..."

Max screeches in rage and leaps at the woman, abandoning any attempts at magic or finesse in favor of racking her fingernails across her face. The woman kicks her in the stomach and shoves her into me, before leaping forward and lifting Max's chin with the tip of her wand.

"Don't. Move." Max glares at me, her hands twitching at her sides. But she knows that a wand can be just as deadly as a gun, and fortunately, she does as she is told.

Ron, Iggy, and Sirius have stopped unlocking cages, realizing what is going on. Murder is flickering in Sirius's eyes, and Ron looks more than capable of committing an Unforgiveable.

"Drop your wands," Striker orders. They obey, angrily. "Good. Follow me."

Striker shifts her wand to rest against the back of Max's head. She leads us through a latticework of halls and doors. The screams ring on, but they are accompanied by the rattling of bars. The prisoners have heard the commotion and have started throwing themselves against their cages. A hand reaches out and grabs my ankle as I pass a cage and I lock eyes with a tiny girl covered in burns. Her nails have been turned into claws, and as Striker pulls me away, they leave bloody gashes on my ankle.

We reach an unmarked door, and Striker pauses. She looks back at us, a smile stretching across her thin lips.

"Now," she says "you will see why we did what we did to your friend. You will see it was all worth it." She looks practically fanatic. Max winces as the wand digs harder against her skull. "Go on, open the door."

Max turns the doorknob and we file into the darkened laboratory. We are silent, hardly daring to breath. Striker reaches out her free hand and flicks on the light.

I scream.

The walls are splattered with blood, and knives and pliers are scattered across every available surface. Machines blink and beep, wires connecting them to a mangled, unmoving body. I knew it was bad. Angel told us as much, but God, he doesn't even look like a person anymore. I can only identify him as Harry by the fact that there's no one else it could be.

The wings hang limp, nearly featherless, bones broken and twisted in such a way that they just look like flaps of skin. His arms are pinned to the table, burned, shattered. The majority of the wires feed into him here, fluids pumping through the tubing and into his mutilated skin. I am sure this is the only thing keeping him alive. There is no hair on his head, no eyes in his face, no fingernails, hardly any skin. His middle has been torn open. I can see his heart beating, fluttering against his rib cage as his lungs draw in breath after shuddering breath. Bile rises in my throat, and I wish that I had never grabbed on to Max's arm. It doesn't matter that I'm here. I might as well have stayed back at Hogwarts. There's nothing I can do. There is no way we can lead him out of here like this. If we tried to get him upright, his intestines would just spill out onto the floor.

Iggy has recoiled at the scent of the blood and Sirius is looking down at his godson like he's a piece of parchment foretelling the end of the world.

"He's not in any pain that we're aware of," said Striker smoothly. She leads us closer to Harry, and runs her free hand across his face. He doesn't even twitch. "He doesn't respond to anything but the machine input. We didn't show Angel the worst of this. We were aware that should she see this, she would likely tell you not to come. We've only just perfected the machinery, I spent all of last night working on this wire alone." She indicates a thin, gold wire feeding directly into Harry's heart.

"I suppose you're wondering the point of all this. Allow me to demonstrate." She punches some numbers into the computer to her left and it buzzes. The wires glow and Harry's lungs jerk violently as he gasps. And then he starts to speak.

"Hello?" His voice is high-pitched, frightened. "Hello? Where am I?"

"Are you Elaine Moore?"

"Y-Yes. Where am I? Why can't I see anything?"

"You'll be allowed to return to the afterlife in a movement. We just have a few questions to ask you. It was understood that two years ago, on October 15th, you were murdered."

"Yes."

"Are you aware that your murderer has not been caught?"

"Yes, I am. Why are you mocking me?"

"We aren't mocking you, just try to calm down." Striker's voice is oddly soothing. "We want to bring your murderer to justice. Do you know who they were?"

"Y-yeah. My ex-boyfriend. Marcus Tailor. He didn't like that I was happy without him so he snuck into my apartment and shot me."

"Thank you that was all we needed," says Striker, jotting the name down. "You may go now." She punches another string of numbers into her computer and Harry—of perhaps Elaine—sighs in relief, as her spirit leaves his body.

"One criminal convicted, one spirit happily looking down from heaven and realizing she's been avenged, and a two parents knowing that the man who killed their daughter is behind bars. Replicate this over and over again, dozens of happy results. Just think of what it could do for your war! You could get Death Eaters put away for good, you could interrogate long-dead supporters of He Who Must Not Be Named! I am on your side, that's why I let you find us here. Look—he's the only one that could work. He has a natural connection to the other world, perhaps because of the prophecy, perhaps because of the killing curse that touched his skin. Either way, just think of all the lives that could be bettered. And all you have to give up is one child." She rests her hand on his forehead again. "I had to do it." Her voice is quieter, almost pleading. "No one else would."

"We were training him," says Sirius coldly. "We were teaching him how to channel the spirits! You didn't have to do this!"

"You were moving at a snail's pace. He would have been dead before you achieved the levels of efficiency we have."

"He's dead already." Max finally manages to speak. "That isn't him anymore. You've destroyed him. Sacrifice a person for a cause and give them a quick death, that's a philosophy many would agree with, sure. But how much suffering did he have to go through before you turned him into your machine?" She practically spits the last word. "Angel told us you kept giving him his sanity back. Why would you do that? Why the hell did you torture him for three months?"

"We had to test how he would react to different stimuli, as well as continually pushing him to, and pulling him back from the brink of death. This was the only way. I don't want to kill any of you. I would rather you help me. I would like the Order of the Phoenix on my side. But if you fail to see the beauty at work in my design, if you refuse to see the good it can do just because of what you call morality, then I'm afraid I can't let you leave this room."

Striker clicked her fingers and the door swung open. Ten Erasers, huge, hulking, and hungry swept into the laboratory.

"Do not meet the same fate as your sister, Maximum. I know you can convince them to help me."

"Are you sure he's not in pain?" Max said. Her voice was almost a whisper.

"All the tests we've done have indicated that he's essentially asleep."

Something about that claim wasn't sitting right with me. Maybe it was the way Harry's mouth was gaping open, or the way his lungs were moving a bit too fast. Call it intuition, call it a hunch.

But I can sense that he is in pain.

I move towards the computers, noticing how Striker was keeping all of her attention on Max and Harry. One of the Erasers growls, moving to intercept me. But it's too late. My eyes had already scanned the strings of code and commands feeding into my friend and they had alit upon one particular phrase.

VOCAL DAMPENER OFF/[ON]

My fingers fly across the keyboard as the wolf lunges at me, completing the command just as it sinks its teeth into my shoulder.

VOCAL DAMPENER [OFF]/ON

Screams fill the room. Harry's voice is a mixture of sobs and pain and laughter, creating a noise so horrific that even Striker flinches away from him. They continue to pour from his throat unceasingly. It was eerie, how such agony could pour from his throat when he couldn't move an inch. One of the tubes feeding into him must have some kind of paralytic. Either that or he's just in too much pain to so much as flinch.

With the wolf's teeth still in my shoulder, and with my eyes upon the mutilated form of Harry, who is screaming his heart out to a ceiling he can't even see, my stomach finally betrays me. There is vomit all over the floor and I am dizzy and Striker is talking and talking. She won't shut up and Harry is still screaming so loudly that she has to shout to be heard over him.

"Okay fine! Fine! I lied. We couldn't find an anesthetic that was compatible with the machinery but I swear to you we are working on it. And everything I said before applies! Think of how many people could be saved, how many deaths could be solved. Think about how quickly we could win this war, and any future wars. This stuff will keep him alive as long as he's needed. He's a hero, a martyr. Do you want all of this to be in vain?"

"It'll keep him alive forever?" Max asks.

"Yes!"

She looks at me, and I at her. She nods, short and almost imperceptible. But I know we are thinking the same thing and I know what I have to do now. With a burst of adrenaline, I shove against the Eraser behind me with all my might. Not expecting me to fight back, he stumbles, and that is all I need to topple him entirely. The delicate computer equipment was not designed to bear the weight of a genetically modified wolf-man, and it shatters into a million pieces.

Striker screeches in rage. Sirius sobs, covering his mouth with a hand. His shoulders are shaking. Ron rushes forward to the bedside of our best friend. Harry is thrashing about. Whatever I broke must have controlled the paralytics, among other things. The heart monitors beep wildly, and Harry's screams have become an unbroken, keening sound. For a wild moment, I think he sounds like a dying star.

Ron clutches his hand as his heart and his lungs kick into overdrive. Even now, even after everything, his body is fighting to stay alive. I struggle up from the pile of injured Eraser, twisted metal, and broken glass. I cross the room slowly, almost solemnly. It doesn't feel right to run, and I know I will get to him in time.

Iggy, Max, and Sirius join me and, as Harry heaves his last breath, I picture how this moment should have gone. Harry old and wrinkled and surrounded by flower vases, in a soft, warm bed. He should have been able to see the sky as he died.

The incessant beep of a flatline replaces Harry's screams. It is a far sweeter sound.

THE END


End file.
